Chaos Theory
by S. Faith
Summary: There's a rather major thing that happens prior to the start of the real story that shreds a friendship to tatters and establishes the ultimate rivalry between two very different men. So… what if that thing never happened? Movie universe.
1. Part 1 of 6

**Chaos Theory**  
Part 1 of 6

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 31,177 (this part: 5,838)

Rating: M / R

Summary: There's a rather major _thing_ that happens prior to the start of the real story that shreds a friendship to tatters and establishes the ultimate rivalry between two very different men. So… what if that thing never happened?

Disclaimer: I think you all know the drill by now. Characters: not mine. Story concept and words in this order: mine.

Notes: I'm using the same name I've been using all along for Mark's first wife. Someone once told me it was canon and while I have never been able to verify that, I like to remain consistent.

Anyone who catches the _LA Story_ quote: I heart you. It's one of my favourite quotes.

* * *

_Chaos Theory: Systems that change over time may have dynamics that appear to be sensitive to initial conditions; because of this sensitivity--which seems to result from disturbances in those initial conditions--the behaviour of these systems appears to be random, even though these systems are in fact fully defined by those initial conditions with no random interference at all._

_Or,_

_Some things appear to be randomly influenced, but are actually predetermined by their initial conditions._

* * *

"Well, mate. I did it."

"Did what?"

"I asked her."

"Asked her out? Even though she's a junior colleague?"

"Technically, yes, she's under me."

He rolled his eyes at the double entendre. "And I've mentioned what a terrible idea I think this is."

"It was just supper."

"Hm."

"And sex. Oh-my-_God_ sex."

He wasn't as surprised as he would have been with anyone else, and he suppressed a chuckle. "I can't believe you," he said. "No, never mind. I _can_ believe you."

"Don't you dare judge me," his friend teased in return. "You're just jealous that you're married to a stick in the mud."

He thought that maybe he was jealous, a little bit. "Touché."

It would only be a matter of time, though, before his friend had moved on to the next flavour of the month and then have to deal with the fallout of working with an ex. _Well, _he thought,_ he will have brought it upon himself—and if she knows him at all, she should probably know better._

………

"The novelty hasn't worn off yet," came the teasing voice on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Oh, I know what you were thinking when I first told you about her."

_Ah_, he thought; _her. _Even some weeks later, still _her_.

"That it wouldn't last, that I'd be onto another girl within days," continued his friend. "Not in the least. If you saw her, you'd see why."

"You've mentioned." Repeatedly. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Killer rack. And phenomenal in bed.

"Oh come on," his friend said. "Admit it. You love living vicariously through me."

"I'll remind you that I'm married."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "You still have to get your thrills somewhere."

"Is that all it's about? Thrills?"

"No," said his friend dismissively and without hesitation. "It is not just about that. She's clever and witty and smart. We can carry on with messaging for hours and she keeps me laughing."

"During the day?"

"Uh-huh."

"Aren't you supposed to be _working_?" he said darkly.

"Chuh," he retorted. "I get plenty of work done. I'm well-motivated not to bring it home with me. I have better things to do there."

Again with the double entendre; so typical.

As they disconnected, he couldn't help but wonder about this girl that had so occupied his friend's thoughts. He had to admit he was intrigued. It was kind of too bad, actually, that she wouldn't be around long enough to meet.

………

Two tickets. Two tickets to the best match of the year, one that had been sold out for days now. He couldn't believe his luck and, grinning, he picked up the phone to ask the one person he knew wanted most to go.

"Yeah?" came the voice on the phone.

"Tickets," he blurted. "For the match. Jeremy came through."

There was silence. "Aw, bugger."

That was not the positive reaction he'd expected.

"What? Don't say 'bugger'. Tell me you can go."

"Mark, I'm sorry. I'd given up hope on the game so I… made other plans."

"Other plans?"

"Well," came the reply, a little coyer than usual. "Remember that girl I told you about?"

How could Mark forget? She had been all he'd talked about for the longest time now, the blonde, blue-eyed babe with the hot body. Mark hadn't actually met the woman yet, but had heard enough about her physical attributes that he felt he could have picked her out of a crowd. "Yes," he said patiently. "I remember Bridget."

"We're doing a mini-break. I'm sorry, mate. Can't go. I promised. And truth is, I'd rather spend the weekend with her. No offence."

Mark shifted the phone from one ear to another. "I can't believe you're turning down a ticket to this game. Who are you, and what have you done with Daniel Cleaver?" he said. He affected a light tone, but he was actually curious. Daniel was not the sort of man to get this serious about a girl. In fact, he'd been seeing her for longer than he could recall Daniel ever seeing a girl.

"Oh, you'll meet her, and you'll see," Daniel said.

"That sounds like a threat," said Mark lightly. "Actually," he said, glancing to his appointment book, "why not make good on this threat and bring her over for dinner, the two of you and the two of us."

"Shouldn't you run this idea past your wife?"

"Good point. She doesn't like surprises."

Daniel laughed.

"Let's fix it for Thursday night then, my house," continued Mark.

"Pending approval," added Daniel.

"Yes," Mark laughed; "of course."

………

"Well of _course_ I don't mind," his wife said, scowling, flipping her short, sleek black bob back away from her face in an impatient manner. "You make me out to be some kind of evil witch."

"Tamiko, I was just making sure," Mark said, thinking her reaction kind of bespoke her true feelings. "I know you know Daniel, but his girlfriend's new, and I know you like to prepare for new acquaintances."

"Hm. Well, I hope she's a little brighter than the last one he brought 'round," she sniffed. "Dumb as a brickbat, I swear."

He stared at her and thought, _I don't think you realise how unattractive hate is._

She was about to take a bite of dinner, but stopped, undoubtedly correctly reading his expression before continuing. "Oh, come on, Mark. Don't play all high and mighty with me. I know you didn't think much of her, either."

He dug into his pasta, swirling it around, and drew his mouth into a tight line. Tamiko was right. He hadn't liked the last one at all: too ready to offer opinions that were clearly not her own, and an insulting, condescending attitude towards the legal profession. "Well, Daniel hasn't spoken of anything else in at least two months, and he speaks very highly of her at that. She sounds quite an improvement over his past girlfriends."

"We'll see," she said with a smile. "But I won't hold my breath."

………

It was thirty minutes past the appointed time for supper, and still no sign of their dinner guests. Mark was feeling hungry; upon her return from the kitchen, his wife was looking murderous.

"Cook says the roast is going to dry out if we don't eat soon," she said. "They did agree on Thursday, right?"

"Yes, they did. Maybe there's a snag in traffic."

She had opened her mouth to reply when the doorbell sounded.

He rose from the sitting room chair. "Ah. You see? The roast will not be a lost cause, after all. Come, let's get the door."

"You go on. I'll go let Cook know we're ready."

They parted ways in the foyer; Tamiko went back down to the kitchen, and Mark, to the door. He swung it wide to find his friend and the woman he presumed to be the much spoken-of Bridget. She was indeed as Daniel had described: blonde hair to just over her shoulders, blue eyes looking up at him apprehensively, and generous assets quite appealingly sheathed in an indigo dress. She was a little shorter and a more on the zaftig side than his usual preference, but altogether a very attractive woman.

"Hi," said Daniel, grinning sheepishly as they came in. "I'm sorry we're late. Bridget got caught up in a—oh, Christ, where are my manners. Mark, this is Bridget Jones. Bridget, this is Mark Darcy."

"It's nice to meet you," she said tentatively, holding out her hand. "Daniel's told me a lot about you, how you met at Cambridge, how he was best man at your wedding."

He accepted it and shook it. "Likewise," he said. "I understand you work together."

She nodded, then looked around herself at his home, very starkly decorated per Tamiko's tastes. "Wow," she said. "Nice house. Very… white."

"Um," Mark replied, not quite expecting that adjective. "Thank you."

"Where's Tamiko?" asked Daniel.

"Went to make sure the table was all laid out with dinner." He held out a hand, indicating the stairs to the lower level, where dinner had been set up, before leading the way down.

"I am so sorry," said Bridget. "When my mother phones it's impossible to get her off the line."

"Really, it isn't the end of the world," Mark replied.

"By the way, Mark, that's a little something you two have in common," piped up Daniel. "Bridget grew up in Grafton Underwood, too."

Mark turned back to them as he reached the bottom, gazing intently at her as she descended the staircase, wondering if she was indeed someone he'd known from his hometown, when he heard Tamiko approach. "Hello!" she said with forced brightness, holding out her hand to shake. "You must be Daniel's new girlfriend. I'm Tamiko Darcy. It's very nice to meet you."

"Hi," she said, accepting the handshake, smiling. "I'm Bridget Jones."

"Bridget. We've heard nice things about you." She released Bridget's hand and with a smile of her own she said, "And Daniel, always nice to see you, of course. Now, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable, dinner's ready." Tamiko indicated the table, already set, wine already poured, roast sitting already carved in the centre and steaming up deliciously.

"Thank you. It smells delicious."

They ended up arranged at the table such that Mark was seated next to both his friend and his wife, leaving him directly across from Bridget. He was still trying to work out if he'd known her back in Grafton Underwood when it suddenly came to him. He recalled a long-ago birthday party, a much-younger blonde girl running around like a hellion. "I do remember you," he said abruptly to Bridget, "tearing off your dress to jump in the paddling pool."

All three looked at him in shock as he realised exactly how bad that had sounded.

Mark hastened to add, "At my eighth birthday party. She was a small child, four at best."

Bridget had, however, turned a deep crimson; Daniel had erupted with gales of laughter; Tamiko had merely pursed her lips and said icily, "Oh."

"I'm sorry," Mark said earnestly to his guest.

"Don't apologise," said Daniel, leaning to his side to slip his arm around Bridget's shoulders. "It sounds exactly like something she'd do."

"Oh, shurrup," Bridget said in a low tone, taking her wine and taking a long draw.

Daniel pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek. Reluctantly she smiled at last, looking a little more comfortable.

"So," said Tamiko after they'd begun to eat. "I understand you and Daniel work together."

"Um, yes," she said. "I work in publicity at Pemberley Press."

Tamiko raised an eyebrow. She knew, as did Mark, that Daniel was editor-in-chief. "Oh. He's your boss."

"Um, yes," she said again. "But it's fully disclosed to Human Resources."

"She's the brightest in her department," offered Daniel, then turned to Bridget to add, "but don't ever tell Perpetua I said that."

Bridget laughed, previous discomfort forgotten, as she took another sip of wine. After swallowing more of her dinner, she turned her blue eyes to Mark to Tamiko and back to Mark again. "And you are both… lawyers?" she asked.

He nodded. Tamiko said, "Yes. Mark's speciality is human rights. I am—_was_—corporate."

"Oh," she said. "That must be very… interesting."

Daniel chuckled; he was surely thinking too that no one could possibly ever correctly describe corporate law as 'interesting'.

"What I mean is, human rights must be a very challenging area," she went on to explain. "Striking a balance between ethicalness and neo-colonialism, and all that."

Mark was floored, especially considering the last girlfriend's rather unpleasant opinion of the law. "Yes," was all he said, rather stupidly.

She blinked rapidly, then turned back to Tamiko. "And you say you _were_ in corporate? Do you do another type of law now?"

"No," Tamiko said with a little laugh. "Once we got married I gave up working."

"Oh," she said. She looked down to her plate, fiddled with her asparagus, then stabbed a spear with her fork and ate it. "This is very good, by the way."

"Thank you," Tamiko said, delicately cutting into her roast. "I will be sure to pass your compliments on to Cook."

"Oh." Bridget smiled again. "I assumed—"

"Tamiko doesn't cook if she can help it," cut in Daniel.

"Neither do you," Bridget snapped back to him with a grin.

Mark laughed. He couldn't help it. Even Tamiko cracked a smile at that retort.

Daniel reached and took Bridget's hand. "You're lucky you're so bloody cute," he said, then reached to peck a kiss on her lips.

The atmosphere thus lightened a bit, they continued eating their dinner, drinking the wine and engaging in conversation. Their guests shared amusing stories from work, which caused a round of laughter more than once. Mark noticed three things during the course of the evening: that Daniel truly seemed smitten with his girlfriend; that Bridget seemed as friendly, intelligent, and sharp as Daniel had claimed, not to mention even more smitten than his friend; and that Tamiko seemed to grow strangely resentful as the night passed.

He knew he would find out why when Daniel and Bridget left.

As the couple were getting ready to depart for the evening, Bridget froze as she restored her handbag on her shoulder, then turned to stare at Mark in a most disconcerting fashion.

"Malcolm and Elaine," she said, sounding like she'd just discovered electricity.

Taken aback, Mark blinked. "What?"

"They're your parents?"

"Yes, those are my parents' names."

She grinned. "Ahh. Your parents and my parents are friends."

"I don't understand."

"How I came to be stripping off at your eighth birthday party."

Mark laughed, saw Tamiko's expression, and quickly shut up. "I'm glad we cleared that up."

Mark walked them to the front door, using all the power of his persuasion to get Tamiko to come with him. "Well," said Daniel. "Thanks for dinner."

"Drive safely," said Mark.

"Oh," said Bridget. "We walked."

"Walked?" asked Tamiko incredulously.

"Oh yes," Bridget said matter-of-factly. "I live pretty near to here, and it's a nice night." She smiled. "Well, Tamiko, Mark, it was great to meet you both. Thanks again. I had a really terrific evening."

"It was nice to meet you too," said Mark; he met Daniel's eyes, and nodded subtly. He thought she had great potential, and he wanted Daniel to know he approved. Daniel grinned, getting the message.

"Goodbye," said Tamiko, and with that the couple headed down the front stairs. Mark watched them stroll hand in hand down the walk before he and his wife went back into the house.

He waited for the other shoe to drop. It did not take long.

"Oh, she has the nerve," said Tamiko.

He sighed, resigned to waiting for the rest.

"Comes in here, spends every moment determined to be the centre of attention. I can't stand that," she said, which was rather like the pot calling the kettle 'black'. "And she works in _publicity_? She may as well be asking 'do you want paper or plastic?'" She snorted. "What is Daniel thinking, anyway, dating a subordinate? Maybe that's it. Maybe he's not _thinking_ at all."

"I found her quite charming," he said. He knew immediately it was a mistake.

"Oh, you would," she hissed. "Men always notice a nice pair of breasts."

"That is not fair," he said, his tone rising, though he had to admit Bridget's physical attributes had not gone unnoticed; he was, after, a straight human male with a pulse, and his wife was not as generously endowed in this respect. "I found her very pleasant, engaging, and intelligent. A far cry from his last girlfriend. Surely you noticed that, too."

She raised her fingers to her forehead, said softly, "I'm sorry. Sorry."

"Daniel's my best friend, so it behoves you to make an effort—"

"Jesus, Mark," she interrupted curtly, dropping her hand down. "I said I was sorry." With that she stalked off.

Mark knew it was better to let her cool down on her own, and instead headed to his office to review for court the next day.

When he looked up from his work and saw the clock nearing midnight, he sighed and knew he should go up to bed. He hoped Tamiko was already asleep.

He slipped beneath the sheets and reached to switch his bedside lamp off; he felt her turn over towards him, felt her hand on his chest.

In a low voice she said, "I didn't mean to be such a harridan today."

"You never mean to," he said.

"I could make it up to you," she said. Her fingers trailed lower on his abdomen.

He covered her hand with his own to still it. Any time he was interested, she was unwilling. Tonight he was exhausted, and had a very busy day ahead of him, which he was certain she knew. Turning away to sleep on his side, he said, "Good night, Tamiko."

………

"You're looking a little ragged," came the voice across the table.

Mark glanced up to his lunch companion and grinned. "Could say the same about you."

As usual, Daniel smirked rakishly and was quick to offer a retort: "I, my friend, have good reason to be sleepless, whereas I doubt that you do."

Mark chuckled, thinking not for the first time how unlikely a friendship they had. "Work, as usual. Caseload's out of control with Jeremy taking off so much time to spend with his wife and newborn." He took a sip of his white wine. "So I take it your mini-break weekend was pleasant, then?"

"Well. Don't like to kiss and tell—"

"Bloody liar."

"—but I think we may have shocked a few of those country folk with our wicked city ways." Daniel leaned forward as Mark chuckled. "Seriously, mate, this girl, she's dangerous for me."

"Dangerous in what way?"

"I don't mean making the restraints too tight, if that's what you're thinking, you old perv," said Daniel, the usual defence mechanism of humour surfacing, before becoming pensive again. "I mean dangerous… in that she may really be it."

"'It'?"

Daniel stared at him meaningfully. "Don't make me say the 'm' word out loud."

Mark nearly choked on his lunch. Marriage? "My God, you're serious."

He sat back. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Mark was thoughtful. He was glad Daniel had found someone to make him happy, but didn't want to encourage him to move too quickly too soon. Daniel was prone to making snap decisions without thinking things through. "Just take it easy," said Mark. "If it's right, it won't need rushing."

Daniel chuckled. "Says the man who got engaged after three months of dating."

"That was different," said Mark. Methodical as ever, Mark had made his mental list of qualifications and prerequisites, and Tamiko had met them all. He'd seen little point in waiting.

"I don't see how," replied Daniel.

"It's true that you and I are very different people, and we want different things," Mark said, then clarified, changing tack, "Bridget's very nice, but don't base major decisions like this on how much fun you're having, in or out of bed."

Daniel pursed his lips. "That sounds very much like 'do as I say, not as I do', Mark."

"It's not, it's really not," said Mark, "and… I'm going to shut up now before I dig myself in even deeper." He grinned, hoping Daniel would accept the truce. He did, allowing a smile in return.

"I'm not going to rush into anything, but—well, you seem to have conveniently forgotten how much you've been hounding me to settle down, find a wife." He sipped at his beer.

"Well, yes, I do think it's time you settled down, but—"

"Tell me," Daniel interrupted, "if your objection stems from your wife's dislike of Bridget."

"What?"

"You seemed to like her well enough on Thursday," said Daniel, "but it wouldn't be the first time Tamiko's convinced you that your mates' girlfriends are evil incarnate."

"Daniel, you don't listen to me at all. I did like her. _Do_ like her. You just need to exercise a little caution." He paused. "I do, in fact, think independently of my wife. I just don't want you jumping into something too quickly."

Daniel looked doubtful. "_She_ didn't think you liked her."

"Why would she think that?"

"I told her you were just being you," Daniel added.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know. _You_, especially when meeting someone for the first time." Daniel was recovering some of his humour. "Tight rein on thoughts and expressions; keeping responses monosyllabic; not speaking until spoken to and even then under penalty of murderous glare…"

He bristled. "I am not like that."

Daniel raised an eyebrow, as if to dispute this claim. "Just try being more engaging with her, will you?"

"If you think me worthy of being in her presence again," Mark said drolly.

Daniel pulled out his mobile, checking the screen. "In fact," he said, "she's meeting me here so we can share a taxi back to the office. Should be here any moment. Do you think you can be civil?"

He exhaled sharply. Daniel was back to form at the cost of his own patience.

She turned up within minutes, waving and smiling from the entrance to the room before threading her way to the table. She came up between the two men, bent and kissed Daniel briefly on the mouth; Mark caught a faint whiff of her light, floral fragrance as she did so. She then took an empty chair from a nearby table and sat where she'd stood.

"Hello, Bridget," said Mark, remembering Daniel's charge to be more engaging. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Hi," she said, a genuine smile directed his way. "Nice to see you again. Having a good lunch?"

"Very good," said Daniel, taking in the last of his draught. "How was yours?"

"Spent in emergency relationship triage with Jude. Poisonous, hateful, vile boyfriend of hers." She sighed, reaching for a chip from Daniel's plate and popping it into her mouth. "He doesn't deserve her and I wish she'd come to her senses and chuck 'im already—anyway. Mark, how's Tamiko?"

Her question took him by surprise. Considering he hadn't even seen his wife that day—he typically rose long before she did—he felt dishonest in his answer. "Um, she's fine, thanks for asking."

"That's good to hear," she said, stealing another chip.

"Are you sure you actually ate lunch?" teased Daniel.

She picked off another one. "Well, if your scrawny arse isn't going to eat them, I might as well." She grinned wickedly.

Daniel chuckled, then he reached forward for his plate to pull it out of her reach. She anticipated his move and took the other side, holding firm.

"Bridge." The tension on the plate caused the chips to shift about.

"Didn't your mum ever teach you to share?"

"My mum was the queen of sharing," said Daniel. "Hence three husbands. But, if you insist…"

Daniel suddenly let go of the plate, which tilted up under the force of Bridget's tugging; the remaining chips and other debris flew and landed in a spray across Mark and his own lunch spread.

"Oh my God!" said Bridget, turning towards Mark in horror. "I am so sorry!" She started brushing salt and bits of potato off of his suit front. "I've ruined your suit."

"Please, please, it's all right. Stop." He grabbed her wrists. "Rubbing it in will only make it worse."

She did stop, looking up at him.

"Besides, it's his fault for letting go of the plate," said Mark, glancing to Daniel, before offering her a smile.

"Oh, I won't apologise," said Daniel. "Mark Darcy needs to have potato shards dumped in his lap on a much more frequent basis. I may make a habit of it."

She smiled, and feeling confident she wouldn't start trying to brush him off again, he let go of her wrists. She turned back to Daniel.

"You are a very bad man," teased Bridget.

"Unfortunately," Daniel continued, "this means I have no more chips to eat, as I am not picking them off of your trousers."

Mark smiled; Bridget laughed. "Lucky thing you're through, actually," said Bridget. "We should get back to the office."

"And I think I ought to get out of this suit and get this one to the cleaners."

"I'll pay," said Bridget.

"Nonsense," Mark said, then chuckled. "Daniel will pay."

"It was my turn anyway."

They all rose at once and a shower of salt fell from the creases in Mark's suit and trouser legs, sending them all into another fit of laughter. The fun they so clearly had together was infectious, and Mark realised he liked being around it. He hadn't laughed so much in such a long time.

"It was nice to see you," said Mark. "Maybe you can join us sooner next time."

He was gifted with a broad smile; maybe she would no longer think he didn't like her. "Yeah, I'd like that." Then to his utter surprise, she stepped forward, got up on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. "Bye."

He guessed he was right.

"Bye," Mark returned automatically.

Daniel hung back for a moment as she headed towards the door. "She does that all the time," he said. "Cheers, mate."

Mark detoured for home and as he was changing out of his suit in his bedroom, he heard Tamiko's voice calling up to him. "Mark? Is that you?"

"It's me," he confirmed.

"What are you doing home?" she asked, appearing at the doorway.

"Had an incident at lunch involving grease, salt and potato," he said, buttoning his shirt and slipping into a new pair of trousers. She said nothing. He turned to look at her and found her with a very strange expression on her face. "What?" he asked.

She strode forward, reached up and swiped something from his cheek. When she pulled her fingers away, he saw the deep pink hue. "I thought you were having lunch with Daniel," she said icily.

It was completely innocent, yet he felt his skin flood with heat. "I did, but Bridget showed up at the end so they could take a taxi together," he said, looking down to tuck in his shirt tails, fasten the button at his waist.

"And what's she doing kissing your cheek?"

"Come on, Tamiko. She's a friendly girl. We got on well, and she was just saying goodbye. There was nothing to it."

"She's a little too friendly, I think. I don't want you seeing her."

Mark laughed. "Come on."

In a firmer tone, she said again, "I don't want you seeing her."

"Be serious. She's Daniel's girlfriend. I'm not likely to be able to avoid her as long as they're seeing one another." He slipped a tie around his neck.

"Then you don't see Daniel."

He paused in mid-tie. "Not acceptable."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Then we're at an impasse."

He resumed the tie, then slipped into a suit jacket. "We can talk about this later. I have to get back to court."

She stared at him with palpable anger and irritation before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

When he returned after court that evening, she was not at home. A note advised she'd gone for dinner with her friends, and not to wait up.

………

"I am so glad you could make it on such short notice."

Mark took a seat in the booth there in the pub, a place that his wife would never dream of entering, for which he was thankful. Bridget had been sporadically joining Daniel and Mark for their weekly lunch together for the past month or so, and in that time he'd been glad to have gotten to know her better. She had a depth unlike any of Daniel's previous girlfriends, and each meeting showed him yet another facet. However, he felt it best that, for his own self-preservation, he didn't mention Bridget's continued presence at that standing lunch date to Tamiko.

Bridget's call to his mobile was sudden and the tone of her voice so serious when she rang him begging to meet her that he had agreed without hesitation, fearing the worst, fearing perhaps Daniel had done something stupid to upset her. He knew that his concern was plainly written across his face because of the way she smiled.

"Nothing is wrong," she said. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Without even having a chance to look at the menu, the server came to take their orders. He decided to have a pint of bitter and got the same lunch as Bridget: a toasted cheese sandwich and a bowl of soup.

After the server departed, Mark asked, "What _is_ this about then?"

"Well," she confided, "I need your help. It's Daniel's birthday tomorrow and I don't know what to get him."

"Oh!" Mark sat back in the booth, feeling very much relieved. "Well, did you have anything at all in mind?"

She slouched back. "No. That's why I called you. I want something with an… emotional attachment, you know? And we've been going out for a little while, but compared to the length of your friendship…"

Mark furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "You know, I'm drawing a blank. He's the sort of man who just buys what he needs when he needs it. Although—" A distant memory started to glimmer from the far corners of his mind, and he looked down, concentrating on pulling that memory to the surface. "—I have this recollection of his desire to own a first edition or rare copy of some book or other, but I'll be damned if I can remember by whom."

She laughed abruptly. "That isn't particularly helpful."

He grinned. It really wasn't. "There's a bookstore just 'round the corner from here, lots of old, rare, out-of-print books. We could go have a look after we're through here."

She perked considerably. "That sounds great."

The sandwich and the soup were incredibly delicious. Mark could not remember, actually, the last time he'd had toasted cheese, and the cream of tomato soup was the perfect complement. Feeling satisfied and full of good food and excellent beer, she paid the bill (insisting, since she had asked him to meet her) and they strolled over to the little bookstore.

It was small and absolutely packed floor to ceiling with tomes, giving the place that dusty old-paper smell so common in such establishments. It was bright and lively in there, though, and the proprietor very friendly, which set the tone for their exploration.

Perhaps he was slightly buzzed on the ale from lunch, but every little comment Bridget had made elicited a smile from him. She had pithy things to say about certain writers, both literarily and on a personal level: "When _he_ came in to Pemberley," she confided, pointing to a well-known name on the spine of a leather volume, "he smelled like stale frying oil."

He stumbled (almost literally) upon a small little section of aged law books, and he found himself drawn to their weathered covers, the browning paper, the history; she asked him if he minded if she went to browse the magazines.

"No, of course not," he said.

He wasn't sure how long he had been thumbing through these volumes when he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hey, Mark." He turned to look at Bridget, who held in her hand a magazine, protectively sheathed in a plastic sleeve. "I know he likes this author, but a magazine seems kind of insubstantial."

Mark took a closer look at the magazine in her hand, saw the name Charles Bukowski, saw _Poems and Drawings_, and knew Bridget had hit a goldmine. "No," he said earnestly. "Not insubstantial at all. Daniel has been wanting a copy of this for years."

Her eyes got very wide, and she grinned broadly. "Really?"

Mark nodded.

She clutched the magazine to her chest, bouncing on her toes. Her enthusiasm, her excitement, was infectious. He could not stop the smile from spreading across his face.

After she paid for the magazine, she turned back to him, still beaming gleefully as they walked out of the store together. "I am so glad you came today. I'd never have thought of this on my own. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," he said, very pleased that he had been able to join her.

"Well," she said, glancing down to her wristwatch, "I should probably get back to work."

"Do you need driving back?" he asked, digging his hands into his pockets, looking for his keys.

"Oh no, that's fine. It's just down the street. I'll see you soon, I'm sure." She smiled again, then popped up onto her toes for the customary peck to the cheek. "Bye!"

"See you soon," he said, watching her walk away, feeling an odd sadness in losing her company.

Midway through the day the following day, Mark's office phone rang.

"Mate, you'll _never_ guess." It was Daniel.

"Guess what?"

"That Bridget… an absolute goddess. Jesus, Mark, she found a copy of Bukowski's magazine. I don't know how she did it, how she _knew_, if she's psychic or what, but in any case, I am just… overwhelmed. Can you believe it? How on earth did she know?"

Mark sat back in his chair, grinning. "It's a bloody miracle," he said dryly.

"Not only that, as if that weren't enough, two tickets to the football match on Sunday—with very specific instructions that I am to take you."

Just then, Mark's mobile began to buzz in an unfamiliar manner within his jacket pocket, and he reached for it as he answered, "Wow, that is a very nice surprise."

It was a text message. It was from Bridget, and it read: _thanx again—enjoy the game!!_

He grinned, then added, "How on earth did she get tickets?"

"Her friend Tom is sleeping with one of the players. Wouldn't tell me which one. Said she didn't want to shatter my illusions."

Mark laughed outright. "Daniel," he said, "I hope you realise how lucky you are with her."

Daniel did not say anything right away, then offered in response a very quiet, "Yeah." After another considerable pause, he added, "Well, mate, gotta get back to work. See you on Sunday?"

"Absolutely."

As he set the receiver into the cradle, he thought about the football match a little—he was, after all, very excited to go—but thought more about Daniel's less than enthusiastic reaction to his mention of the fortune of having a girlfriend like Bridget. He had to admit it was worrisome, because a reaction like his was an indicator that, like a skittish colt, he might dash for the barn door and for freedom; after all, Daniel did not have a good track record when it came to long-term relationships.

Mark hoped he was wrong, but feared he was not.


	2. Part 2 of 6

**Chaos Theory**  
Part 2 of 6

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 31,177 (this part: 6,170)

Rating: M / R

* * *

Partway through an interminable dinner meeting, Mark spotted Bridget sitting at a nearby table with, of all people, Jeremy's wife Magda. He very nearly did a double take. How he had failed to learn in the time he'd known Bridget that Magda and she were acquainted was beyond him.

As the meeting broke up, he walked up to their table to say hello and too late saw that both women were looking very sad, almost teary; if not for the fact that Bridget turned and locked eyes on him, he would have retreated. "Mark," she said with a surprised tone. "Hi."

"Hi," he said, reluctantly approaching; he hated to admit it, but the first thing that came to mind was that Daniel had chucked her. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Magda touched her napkin to the corner of her eye. "No, that's all right. I have to get back home to the babysitter."

Bridget reached across to squeeze her friend's hand. "I'll talk to you later."

Magda nodded, then rose. "Nice to see you, Mark," she said before bolting towards the exit. He watched her leave.

"I'm not quite finished with my dessert, if you want to join me."

He whipped his head around back to her. She looked terribly glum.

"Certainly."

He pulled out the chair lately vacated by Magda and sat, silently observing Bridget's expression, watching her capture the last of her chocolate cake with the tines of her fork. How to tactfully ask…. "Are you all right?"

She looked up, her eyes glossy but her expression confused. "Me? Oh, I'm fine. Aside from wanting to bollock Jeremy. Her husband."

Mark nodded. He'd heard unfortunate rumours around the office about Jeremy having started an affair with a girl at Brightlings Bank. It explained why Magda was so eager to get away from Mark. "I know."

Bridget furrowed her brows. "You know I wanted to bollock him?"

"No," Mark said, smiling at the misunderstanding. "I know Jeremy. He's a partner in chambers."

"Really? What a small world." She paused the fork on the way to her mouth. "Is it true, then? _Is_ he seeing someone?"

"I don't know. I've only heard rumours. I hope it's not true."

"Me too." She sighed. "Though I'm afraid that it probably is." She pushed her plate away. "I'm just so worried for her, having just had the baby, two other children to care for, already in a delicate state…." She finally ate that last bit of cake, and after swallowing, drank some coffee to wash it down. "I really just want to take Jeremy by the scruff of the neck and tell him how disgusting his behaviour is when he's got a beautiful, witty wife and three lovely children…" She trailed off, looking into her coffee cup.

Mark found it touching that she cared so deeply for her friend, and found that he did not know what to say. "I agree," was all he could come up with.

She looked up, the hint of a smile and an overall tender expression on her face. "It's really refreshing to hear that," she said, clearly touched.

"Hear what?"

"A man not defending another man simply because they're both men." In a flash she looked troubled again. "God. I don't know what I'd do if that happened to me. I really don't. It'd be like your foundation coming out from under you, you know?"

He felt dread in the pit of his stomach. He realised a shift in concern for this pairing had gradually and subtly occurred, from Daniel (making the leap too soon with a woman whose only known quantities were being easy on the eyes and good in bed) to Bridget (with her honest, pure feelings for a man who was likelier to fly than want to nest). He truly did not want her to be hurt. "I know," he said at last.

There was an easy silence between them, until she said unexpectedly, "I appreciate your listening to me."

"Of course. That's what friends do." He realised as he said it that it was true; they had in fact become friends.

She smiled. "They do, don't they."

………

"'I'm not going to that ridiculous party.' That's exactly what she said to me."

Mark was having lunch with Daniel again, awaiting Bridget's arrival, advising him of what Tamiko had told him at the mere mention of the Alconburys' autumn harvest party.

Mark continued, "I wasn't particularly interested in going myself, but I'm now tempted to just to spite her."

Daniel laughed. "You can ride up with us if she decides to hide your keys. Ah, there she is." Mark turned back to look at the door to see Bridget, and she smiled at the pair of them.

"Hi," she said, taking the free seat at the small, round table before leaning over to kiss Daniel. "I'm sorry I'm late. Have you ordered yet?"

"Not yet," said Mark.

"Looks like we might be carpooling to the Alconburys' together tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?" Bridget turned her bright blue eyes on Mark. "Wife not coming?"

Mark shook his head. "She never does. And I usually don't either."

Mark regretted saying it as soon as it had left his mouth, and watched as Daniel valiantly tried to hold in a laugh, but couldn't. Mark knew exactly into which territory Daniel's mind had wandered.

"_To the party_," added Mark, fighting off a smile and losing. "Crikey. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"I am in fact twelve at heart," admitted Daniel. Mark noticed that it was only after he had himself smiled that Bridget allowed herself her laughter at the inadvertent double entendre. "I was about to ask you why you ever married her then."

At that, Mark chuckled, though something about Daniel's statement had hit a little too close to home. He couldn't remember when he had last had an enjoyable intimate tryst with his own wife. They were either both too tired or too rushed, the act too perfunctory, and he suspected she faked it more than not.

The server appeared at the table to take their order at that moment, and after that conversation turned to lighter topics.

Midway through their meal Daniel's mobile began to ring. "Excuse me, I need to take this." He rose and strode off towards the loos.

"I've never had that pasta dish here," said Bridget. "Is it any good?"

Mark nodded; his mouth was full of food and didn't want to speak, though he wasn't sure she actually saw his response. He muttered an "mmm"; she raised her eyes to him, saw him chewing, and chuckled.

"Sorry," she said. "I seem to have a talent for asking you questions when you are least able to answer them."

"Yes," Mark said. "I mean, 'yes' to your question. As for your alleged talent, well, as you can see, I haven't minded yet."

"I'm glad," she said with a smile, glancing down, her smile fading. After a beat she asked, "You've known Daniel a long time, haven't you?"

"Since Cambridge," he reminded, feeling suddenly worried about where this was going.

"Pretty long, then. Hm. I was just wondering…" She trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words. "Wondering how a man like Daniel feels about… long-term… _things_."

"A man like Daniel?" asked Mark. "Or Daniel?" As he said it he knew he was deflecting the question, because if he had to be honest, he would hurt her feelings.

"Well. Daniel, I guess."

He sat there, wondering how on earth he was possibly going to answer this enquiry and retain both his old and new friendships, but was saved from this moral dilemma when Daniel returned to the table, looking grave.

"What's wrong?" asked Mark.

"Bloody boring-arse book," he said, grumbling. "I now have two fewer weeks in which to get this thing ready for publication, since they want to have it on the shelves for some unfathomable reason two weeks sooner. It's not as if it's Christmastime or something."

"Daniel," said Mark. "It _is_ coming up on Christmastime. It's only two months away…"

"Oh." He looked sheepish. "Bridget, I'm sorry. I won't be able to come to the party with you tomorrow."

"But you promised last time when you couldn't come that you would, the next one for sure," she said, her face falling, her posture deflating.

"I know. And I really wanted to go. I'm sorry."

She sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her abdomen, pouting and looking very glossy-eyed. "I don't even think my mother believes I have a boyfriend," she said under her breath. Daniel was chewing his food and did not appear to have heard her comment. Mark wondered how many other of these types of events Daniel had ducked out of.

"Well, if you still want to go, you can come with me," said Mark. Quietly he added, "I can even vouch for his existence if you like."

A reluctant smile found her features. "Sure, that'd be nice."

"Thanks, mate," said Daniel.

"Your wife won't care?"

"What she doesn't know can't bother her," chimed in Daniel.

"I don't want to get you in trouble with your wife," said Bridget, alarm suddenly filling her eyes.

"My wife has irrational fits of pique," said Mark. "I am a grown man and she doesn't get to say who I do or do not get to retain friendships with."

"That's a bloody nice way to put it," joked Daniel.

"To put what?"

"That your wife is a humourless—"

"That's quite enough, Daniel," said Bridget, much to Mark's surprise.

"He did ask," said Daniel in his own defence.

Mark glanced to Daniel. "It's true. You did. And you're right, she is sometimes."

The more time Mark spent in their company, the more he had come to realise it.

………

Making the drive to Grafton Underwood with his wife always seemed like a long, slow descent into hell, and he dreaded doing it every single time. As he departed for Bridget's address, thoughtfully scribbled on a coaster from the pub, he felt the same ball of stress building low in his stomach. He parked and rang her bell; he heard her voice come out through the intercom speaker advising him she would be right down.

She appeared as promised, looking very pretty in a leaf-green dress and her hair pulled back into a barrette at the base of her neck. "Sorry. Couldn't find my shoe."

"It's all right."

They walked over to his car and he opened the door for her. With a smile, she descended into the passenger seat. They were off within minutes; she launched into a story from work about her co-worker Perpetua (whom he remembered hearing of before in passing) that had him laughing so hard he was afraid he might swerve into opposing traffic.

Before he knew it, they were at the Grafton Underwood junction, all stress completely dissipated. He was astonished; it seemed that it was not the drive but the company that had always made it so arduous.

Immediately upon entering the Alconbury home she was met by her mother, who all but accused her of having made up Daniel, at which Mark stepped in and did his duty, reminding Mrs Jones that Daniel had been his best man.

"Oh, my goodness," she said, as if suddenly noticing him. "Mark Darcy, as I live and breathe."

Una Alconbury appeared from around a threshold and looked equally stunned. "I can't believe my eyes. You never come to these 'dos anymore. We've missed seeing you."

He smiled. He'd forgotten what a tight knit little sort-of family his parents' friends all were, even if they were all slightly twittery and overbearing in their own way. "It's nice to see you, too."

"And how kind of you to escort my daughter here," said Pam. "How's your wife? Not under the weather, I hope?"

"No more than usual," he said drolly. Una and Pam started laughing like a pair of hens.

"Let's get you a drink," said Una in a light, tinkly voice. "And you too, Bridget."

Truly it was a good party, inasmuch as a party like this could be good. He spent the party in Bridget's company and was never wanting for conversation, whether it was Bridget telling funny stories about the other guests, or them chatting to one of the family friends. Mark didn't even mind when Geoffrey Alconbury started asking him for basic legal advice. Bored senseless with the topic, Bridget wandered off.

It was the question immediately after her departure that caught him off guard:

"So, old chap," began Geoffrey in a conspiratorial tone, "how long have you been…?" He elbowed Mark playfully in the side.

"How long have I been what?"

"_You know_." Geoffrey looked pointedly over towards Mark's mother. She was speaking with Bridget.

He looked at Geoffrey again, and with a dawning sense of alarm realised precisely to what Geoffrey was referring, especially as the older man was now waggling his eyebrows.

"I have _not_ been," Mark said coolly.

"Fwah," said Geoffrey. "Say no more, want to keep it hush-hush, I understand."

"There's nothing to keep hush-hush," said Mark. "If you'll excuse me."

He strode over to where his mother and Bridget were standing. "Hi," Bridget said brightly to him; his mother merely smiled.

With a piercing gaze at his mother, he said, "I need to speak to you in private."

He knew he was being a little abrupt to Bridget but he didn't want to waste time with social niceties. He escorted his mother to the kitchen and waited for the door to swing closed before asking in a very quiet voice, "Mother, what have people been saying?"

Judging by her reaction, he did not need to elaborate. She pursed her lips, and her expression was stony. "I find myself quite torn, Mark. Quite torn. As my son I want the best for you—"

Oh God. Even his own mother thought he was sleeping with her.

"Mother—"

"—and while you've been clearly dissatisfied in your marriage, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself, especially considering what a nice girl Bridget is, that Daniel's your best friend, the overall lack of honesty and the disrespect you're showing to your wife—"

"Mother!" he said curtly, on top of all else astonished to think his marriage was perceived as unhappy from the outside. "We are not having an affair."

She drew her lips into an even tighter line.

"Why would you think such a thing?" he asked.

"It's obvious to me, to _everyone_, that you're completely over the moon about her."

"We are friends," he said very deliberately, a hint of desperation in his tone that she might understand. "That is all it is."

"That isn't at all _what it looks like_," she said with emphasis. "I haven't seen you smiling so much, so animated… so _happy_… in years."

"Mother," he said, "if you hear anyone else say such nonsense, promise me you'll set them straight. The last thing I need is for Tamiko to hear it and think it's true. She already dislikes Bridget."

"Maybe she's jealous," said his mother. "Maybe she ought to be."

He stared at his mother for a few moments, still reeling inside, not only from the sudden rumour mill and the thought of his wife hearing of it, but what his mother had said that had suddenly seemed so obvious. God, he _was_ happy when he was with Bridget, happy in a way that he wasn't with his wife, and possibly had never been. Bridget was sweet and pretty and above all, genuine….

The kitchen door opened slowly and Bridget poked her head in. "Is everything all right?"

"No, it's not," said Mark, bringing his hand up to his face, pressing a finger and a thumb into the corners of his eyes and pinching before pulling them away. "We need to leave."

"Oh," she said, looking anxious.

"Goodbye, Mother," he said, then bent to place a kiss on her cheek. "Promise me," he whispered.

He pulled away and saw her nod subtly.

Once in the car he went over in his mind his entire friendship with Bridget, examining his behaviour for clues to his own feelings, wondering if it could possibly be true that he might have a deeper attachment than he wanted to admit.

He could not deny that he looked forward to time spent with the two of them, but he'd known Daniel for so long; had he really been looking forward to seeing Daniel in these recent months, or was it Bridget's charming smile, scintillating wit, and infectious laugh that he craved? This made Mark reflect on his initial impression of her, formed solely through Daniel's physical descriptions and exuberant praise, and how wrong he had been to assume she would be just another pretty face. While she was not conventionally drop-dead, stick-thin gorgeous like Daniel's usual preferred type, she was rather beautiful in her own way, as voluptuous as if she'd stepped out of a Botticelli painting. This, coupled with her warm, friendly personality and quick-witted intelligence, made her very appealing, very attractive. His mind inevitably wandered to those certain other talents Daniel would rave on about, and he absently wondered if those claims were as true as the others—

_No_, he thought. _I cannot pursue this train of thought. I must not. She is my friend, Daniel is my friend, and I am married._

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked, breaking the silence at last, her voice quiet and sad.

He glanced over to look at her. The only thing she could possibly be accused of is being herself. "No, you haven't. I'm sorry to be so quiet."

"What's the matter then?"

He decided to try to be flippant about it, chuckling what felt like the most insincere chuckle ever, and said, "It would seem that we are having an affair."

She blinked repeatedly and her mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Apparently that's what everyone at the party thought."

She covered her mouth with her hand, her shock evident. "Oh my God." Then, as he'd hoped, she began to laugh. "This isn't funny, but…" She erupted in giggles. "…but it _is_! Why would they think that? Because we came to the party together?"

With her wide eyes on him, with the way she was grinning, he didn't have the heart to relay to her his mother's astute observations. "Must have been."

She sat back in the seat and turned to look out the window, still residually laughing. "That is pretty funny."

"Yeah. Funny," he said, returning his focus to the road. "I was just upset… _concerned_… because I would just hate for Tamiko to hear."

"Do you think she would hear? God, I'm sorry," she said dolefully. "Not to mention it would just give her another reason to hate me."

"She doesn't hate you," he said.

"Don't lie."

He smiled despite himself.

"Or, God, what if Daniel heard… thinking his best friend and I…" She went quiet again, then sighed, and when next she spoke, her voice was much more serious. "Mark, you never answered my question yesterday."

Question?

"About Daniel and long-term… _things_."

Ahhh. The question he'd dreaded answering. He decided to meet it head-on with a question of his own: "What makes you think he's not into a long-term thing?"

She shrugged. "He's been distant, not quite as affectionate… hell, we haven't even had sex in a week." Mark turned to look at her, was surprised at not only the level of intimate detail she felt comfortable sharing with him, but how quickly her entire demeanour had changed from mirthful to miserable in a matter of moments. "And he has managed to weasel out of every possible encounter with my parents, even Saturday tea with Mum at Debenham's. I thought this party might be _the_ chance at last, but… once again, disappointment. I'm starting to think maybe he's just getting tired of me, and—" She stopped, sniffing. "I would hate to think he's staying with me because he felt he had to."

Mark felt his heart start to race. He knew full well what it meant: that Daniel was either falling in love, or was already there. Mark had seen the signs enough times to know that the stronger the feelings he had, the more afraid he was of them, causing him to pull away, alienating his girlfriend, and inevitably destroying what they had together.

He would have to talk to Daniel. For now—

"Bridget, he's been hurt before," said Mark. It wasn't exactly a lie, but he certainly wasn't going to tell her the pain was usually due to his own self-sabotage. "He's probably being cautious because he likes you so much."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her looking at him, so he turned briefly to meet her gaze. "Do you really think so?" she asked tremulously.

Mark nodded.

She smiled, looking much more at ease. "Thanks."

They fell into a leisurely silence until he realised she was looking very intently at him. "What?" he asked at last.

"It's silly," she said, "but I was just thinking… how incredibly easy it is to talk to you about these things. It's not like talking to a man at all."

He laughed, then turned, grinning to her, taking in her look of horror.

"Oh God. That didn't sound at all like it did in my head."

"It's okay," he said, his laughter subsiding, before he added gently, "I know what you meant."

"I'm glad," she said. "Glad you always seem to know what I really mean. And you know, if you ever need the favour returned… I'm pretty good at relationship advice."

He would have loved to take her into his confidence about this whole situation, but he did not dare, considering she played such a huge role in it. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, striving for a light tone.

Concern was evident in her voice as she asked, "You'd tell me, wouldn't you, if our friendship was causing problems in your marriage?"

He nodded and told her that he would, but could not help thinking that the problems were already there and she had only helped bring them to his attention.

He got her safely to her building, walked her to the front door, reminding her it was her turn to pick the upcoming venue for lunch that week. "Right," she said. "Well, thanks again for the ride, and for… listening." She got up on her toes to give him what he thought was going to be one of her little cheek-pecks, but turned out to be a hug, slipping her arms around his midsection. Reflexively he returned the embrace, ashamed of his own thoughts as he held her, holding on maybe a little bit too long, a little too tightly; she was soft and curvy and warm and smelled of that delightful floral perfume again. He closed his eyes briefly, savouring the contact, until she broke away with a big grin. He smiled too, though reservedly.

"Good night," she said. With a little wave she then headed into her building, and after watching her through the window as she headed up the stairs, he got back into the car and pulled away from the kerb for home.

Rumour debacle notwithstanding, it really had been the most excellent, satisfying day he'd had in some time, and as he drove the short distance between their residences, his analytical brain began to pick it to pieces. What exactly had been nice about it? The party? The crowds? The drinks? Or his companion?

He kept arriving at the same answer: he was indisputably attracted to her. It did not sit well with him. He had to stop thinking of Bridget—he was _married_, for God's sake—but he couldn't.

He realised he'd have to make himself stop.

Upon his arrival home he was met in the foyer by his wife. To her surprise, he grasped her wrist and pulled her up the stairs to their bedroom. Her mouth hung agape, feigning shock at his wicked spontaneity, as he threw her onto the bed and proceeded to feverishly fuck her.

"Oh, _Mark_," said Tamiko afterwards, panting for air. "Don't know what's gotten into you…"

_I do_, he thought, his conscience heavy with shame as he rolled over to sleep and she rose from the bed to shower. The shame was two-fold; not only was he acting like a man guilty of infidelity, but his liaison with his wife had had the opposite of its intended effect.

The entire time he could not help but think of Bridget.

………

He felt like a hypocrite.

He'd just been to speak with Jeremy in a closed-door meeting. To the outside world it undoubtedly looked like it had everything to do with business as usual, but this had been anything but case discussion. He had decided to confront Jeremy about the rumours, and after a confession that they were true, that it was a meaningless fling to offset a sudden, desperate feeling of being trapped, Mark gave him the lecture of a lifetime about shaping up and flying straight.

_Physician_, he thought, _heal thyself_.

After that wild night of undoubtedly displaced passion the previous Saturday, he had decided to try to fly the straight and narrow himself, try to make things better with the woman to whom he'd pledged himself for the rest of his life. He had made an excuse to get out of his weekly lunch arrangement with Daniel and Bridget. He needed the distance from her.

When it then became obvious that the distance was having little effect on his preoccupation, he decided he needed to try harder, and so Mark had asked his wife out for dinner that Friday night.

"A date?" she'd asked, clearly amused.

"If you want to call it that," he said with a smile.

She looked utterly thrilled, and flipping back her hair, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him very quickly on the lips. "Let me get something pretty on."

She took remarkably little time to prepare and reappeared looking resplendent in a shiny silver-toned dress. They left with plenty of time to make their reservation.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, it became very evident very quickly that the date—the whole night in fact—had been a big mistake.

They placed their orders, and Mark sat back in his chair, sipping modestly at a glass of wine, looking at his wife and taking in her cold beauty, her calculating expression. He noticed, however, that she was not looking at him; something across the room had caught her attention and suddenly sparked a look of unmitigated pleasure. She snickered, meeting his eyes and leaning forward. "Well," she said in a low voice. "So much for his charming little publicist."

Mark followed her gaze to a secluded corner booth. Daniel Cleaver was there. To Mark's dismay, his companion was not only not Bridget, but his dinner seemed to be the last thing on his mind; he was kissing this woman with not only a startling lack of decorum, but his hand was very evidently high on her thigh under her dress. Mark felt his stomach turn with swirling acid as all of his worst fears were realised.

"Oh, no. Oh my God."

"You shouldn't be surprised," said Tamiko, smirking cockily.

He felt his anger swell: anger at his wife for her schadenfreude; anger at Daniel for being too weak not to fall into the same self-defeating patterns; anger at himself for not doing more to try to intervene on their behalf, possibly—hell, _probably_—due to his own sublimated feelings…

"I'll be right back," he said, pushing his chair back from the table.

"Mark, don't you _dare_ go over there," she said. "You're not his guardian angel. It isn't your job to pull him back from the brink of disaster every time he gets near it."

"He is my friend, and he's in danger of ruining the best thing he's ever had with a woman," Mark said hotly in return, taking care to keep his voice low.

"Mark," she said dangerously. "I'm telling you. Stay here."

"Or what?"

She said nothing.

He stood and without another word to her, he strode over to the corner table. The pair had thankfully come up for air and when he saw Mark approaching, Daniel pushed himself away from the woman.

"Mark," said Daniel, a nervousness to his voice that was unmistakeable. Mark wondered just how angry he looked. "I don't think you've met—"

"Daniel. Might I have a word with you?"

He blinked in that slow, lazy way that told Mark even before Daniel stood that he was more than just a little tipsy. "All right."

Mark glanced back to his own table to see Tamiko seething at him. _She can bloody well keep on seething_, he thought. He led Daniel to the bar and ordered him a black coffee.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Mark, low under his breath.

"What, it wasn't obvious to you?" Daniel retorted with a grin.

"Be serious," said Mark.

Daniel looked down into the coffee. "Something's wrong with me," he said after a long pause. "I'm not wired right. I get a good thing going and I find a way to fuck it up."

"How long have you been—"

"Just asked her for dinner. Half-hour ago."

Mark nodded, feeling slightly relieved. "Why?"

"Because I'm only going to hurt her, Mark, and she doesn't deserve it."

Mark knew he was not talking about the leggy redhead in the corner table.

"You're hurting her by pushing her away," said Mark. "You'll devastate her if you cheat on her."

"I did cheat on her."

"You only kissed another woman," said Mark. "You haven't gone past the point of no return yet."

"It would honestly be better for her if I end it now," he said quietly. "She's too good for me."

"Daniel, don't sell yourself short."

He looked up. "Mark, it's the truth, and you know it," he said, his pale eyes watering. "She's different than any other woman I've known; you've known most of them, too, so you can't tell me you haven't noticed she's worlds above any of them. I know you have. I can _tell_ you have. Hell, you're way more concerned about her than any other woman whose heart I've trashed."

"She is something special," Mark conceded, ignoring Daniel's observation, "but that doesn't mean you don't deserve her."

"I don't. She deserves a far better man than me," he said. "Someone who can give her what she needs, not just a good roll in the hay once in a while, or cracks a joke now and again. Someone who can treat her like she deserves to be treated." He stared at Mark, almost as if looking through him. "Damn, it's too bad _you're_ already married," he said, then laughed mirthlessly. "And to someone you're not even in love with. Pity."

"Daniel, you're drunk." Even as he said it, his heart was hammering in his chest.

"I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid. And you _have_ always been a better man than I am," said Daniel, rising from his bar stool. "Well. Go on back to your wife. I have some very important things to do."

"Daniel, don't do this."

His voice was resigned when he spoke next. "I'll do what I have to do, and like the good friend you are, you'll help me clean up afterwards." He pointedly glanced to Tamiko, who was still glaring daggers at the bar. "And you'll do what _you_ have to do. Our lives will go on, same as always." He clapped Mark on the shoulder. "Thanks for at least trying to save me."

He watched as Daniel headed back to his corner table, threw down some bank notes to cover the barely-touched meal, and walked out of the restaurant with the nameless redhead, his hand possessively around her waist, nuzzling into her neck as they walked.

It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.

He returned to his table, looked down at the food that had arrived, and suddenly found he had no appetite.

"Mark," barked Tamiko. "Are you even going to say anything?"

His head snapped up to look at her. "Yes. I can't pretend I care about having dinner at an overpriced restaurant when a friend is about to have—" He remembered Bridget's words about Magda, and how apt they seemed now for herself. "—her foundation taken out from under her."

"'Her'?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "You're not talking about that bimbo publicist of Daniel's, are you?"

"She is no bimbo."

He watched her jaw clench. "So you've gotten to know her better, have you?"

"Tamiko, do not start this with me."

"Mark, I warned you not to see her."

"And I recall warning you that I was not about to cut anyone out of my life because you—"

"I am your _wife_," she hissed. "Who do you care about more?"

"Now that," he said stonily, rising from the table, "is an excellent question."

With that, he strode away from the table, out the front door, and to his vehicle. He got in, engaged the ignition, and put the vehicle into gear.

Problem was, he had no idea where to go. He wanted to do something—anything—to stop the disaster that would assuredly unfold that night, but things had been set into motion that he no longer had control over. So instead he just decided to drive, and before he knew it, he found himself at his parents' house just outside of Grafton Underwood. Something about the sanctuary it offered must have appealed to him on a very basic level.

Without any explanation of his presence, he found his mother and father in the sitting room, kissed his mother's cheek, wished them goodnight, then headed up to his usual room. He pulled out his mobile phone and made two calls.

One was to Tamiko's phone. She didn't answer, probably avoiding his call, which he was counting on. He left a message that he'd gone to his parents' to cool down, and to call his mother if she didn't trust that he hadn't run off to fuck Daniel's soon-to-be ex.

The other was to leave a message on Bridget's mobile. He only said to call if she needed to.

………

A shrill ringing at four in the morning woke Mark from his troubled sleep. He palmed the phone, looked at the display. Bridget. He cleared his throat, flipped it open, saying quietly in greeting, "This is Mark."

"How did you know?" was all she asked, her voice tremulous and barely audible.

He sighed heavily, then explained the scene at the restaurant, how he'd tried to intervene on her behalf, to try to make Daniel see reason. "I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything for a really long time, so long he ordinarily would have wondered if the call had dropped, but he could hear her sniffling. When she did speak her voice was nothing like the vibrant one he was used to, a shadow of its usual self. "I don't think there's anything you need to apologise for."

"The thing is," said Mark, "I think he really does care about you very much. I don't understand why he does this. Rejects… shrinks away from strong, serious feelings for a woman."

"Why didn't you just tell me this in the first place when I asked?"

"Because…" He drifted off, looked out to the moon hanging heavily in the country sky. "…because I thought with you it would be different."

More silence. "I'm always going to be alone."

"Don't say that." He was suddenly feeling both frustrated and glad he was an hour and a half away from town. If he went to console her, he might find himself doing something very ill-advised. "I wish I could have done more."

"I think you kind of went above and beyond as it is, Mark. For what it's worth, thank you." She yawned, then made a startled gasp. "Oh, Jesus. I didn't realise it was so late. I must have woken you or, _bloody hell_, Tamiko."

He moved his phone to the other ear, conveniently forgetting to mention he was not in his own house. "It's all right. I did offer. I guess in future I should include my office hours."

She made a sniffling, snorting little half-laugh sound that broke his heart. "Thank you, Mark. Really. You make me not completely lose hope in the male of the species."

He smiled, bade her good night, admonished her to try to sleep, then disconnected the call.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating himself as he finally drew an obvious and inescapable conclusion:

It wasn't just attraction. He was in love with Bridget Jones.


	3. Part 3 of 6

**Chaos Theory**  
Part 3 of 6

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 31,177 (this part: 6,170)

Rating: M / R

See Part One for details.

* * *

Mark suddenly had no reason to see Bridget every week, no reason that didn't seem completely awkward or forced. Tamiko, as she always did, got over the whole scene at the restaurant within the day; she thrived on drama the way other people thrived on air. The scales had fallen from Mark's eyes, though; he had begun to objectively see not only who she really was, but their relationship as a whole. He could finally see what others had been able to so easily discern:

They did not have a happy marriage; they had a convenient legal arrangement with occasional emotionless sex.

They were barely friends. He didn't love her. He wasn't sure he ever had.

He offered Bridget comfort via the phone a couple more times over the next week, offered Daniel his support over a glass of stout four nights out of seven in addition to the usual lunch date, regretting his actions but reiterating that Bridget deserved better. Mark did not once say, "I told you so."

His contact with Bridget grew more sporadic as the weeks passed. It killed him a little bit every day, but he did not want to prolong his agony; talking to her was bad enough, but wishing he could see her, wishing for more and not being able to act on it, was torture. She was healing from her break-up with Daniel; that much he was glad for. He had no intention of ruining that, taking advantage of her weakened emotional state, or allowing his own weakened will to cause more harm to more people than not.

Mark was, however, treading water, and he knew it. He just didn't know what to do about it.

………

It was some time just after the New Year that Jeremy advised he and Magda were throwing a house party at their country home (quaintly referred to as 'the cottage') to celebrate their wedding anniversary—"best thing you ever did for me," Jeremy had confided, "was giving me that kick in the pants"—and had extended an invitation to Mark and Tamiko.

Mark smiled. "I'm pretty sure the diary's clear, but I'll double check."

When he brought it up over dinner, Tamiko rolled her eyes. "Do we have to go? You know I find Magda a whiny cow and Jeremy's an absolute windbag, completely full of himself."

He swore she insulted his friends and acquaintances just to get a rise out him. "He's my partner in chambers as well as my friend and I'd like to show my support."

"But Mark," she replied, her tone verging on petulant, "it's winter. I don't want to go driving out to the middle of nowhere in winter."

He wanted nothing more than to get away from the city; if he could also get away from her and think, he might be able to figure out his next step. "Do you have any objection to my going alone?"

"Hm, don't suppose it would do any harm." She smiled up at him. "I could have the decorator over about the new drapes. I know how much you hate that sort of thing."

He nodded. _Yes_, he thought, _keep yourself occupied with trifles and leave me alone._

………

Mark arrived to the cottage later on Friday than he intended to, having got misdirected more than once. The snow was really starting to come down, heavier than he could recall in recent years, and he wondered when Sunday rolled around, if they'd be able to dig their way out. He went to the front door with his little travel bag, shivering a bit in the cold, and knocked firmly.

He heard the lock turn—_you could take the Londoner out of the city…_, he thought bemusedly—then the door swung open. It was Magda. "Oh! Mark! I was beginning to despair you'd ever arrive! Please come in."

He set his bag down, then shook the snow from his coat and removed it; she took it and hung for him. He stepped out of his dripping wet shoes, saw his trouser cuffs were damp too. "Have a little mulled wine; just the thing for a cold winter night, hm?" she said with a smile.

"Sounds delightful." He stepped in to see the room was rather empty, just one other couple sitting on a sofa near the fireplace. He spotted a chair near to the flames and sat on the wingback, settled into it, stretching his feet in front of him to get warm and dry just as Magda brought him the promised mug of warmed, spiced wine. "Where is everyone else?"

"Oh," she said. "I had a few cancellations due to the weather."

"Ah."

"I'm sorry Tamiko couldn't join us."

_I'm not_, he thought, savouring the crackle of the fire.

"I have some dessert cakes if you like," she added, seemingly determined to be a good hostess.

"Marvellous," he said, sipping his wine, then closing his eyes and cradling his mug in two hands. The quiet, the solitude, with nothing but his thoughts…. he hadn't felt so at peace in months. He smiled, felt himself drifting off to sleep.

He then heard a voice he thought surely he was hallucinating until he opened his eyes.

"Mark?"

It was really her. Bridget.

He sat up as she took the empty chair beside him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She laughed. "It's nice to see you too." Her hair was down loose around her face, a little longer then when he'd last seen her. She had on dark blue denims and a jumper that was the same pale blue shade of her eyes, a little too long and too baggy on her. She looked absolutely adorable and devastatingly lovely. He realised instantly his feelings had not changed one iota; he was still painfully, achingly in love with her. It was so good to see her again that it was all he could do not to jump out of his seat and throw his arms around her.

He offered a smile, instead. "I only meant I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Magda invited me, a little getaway. Figured it couldn't hurt." She looked around herself, as if she suddenly felt like she were in someone's crosshairs. "Did your wife come?" He opened his mouth to speak when she started to laugh, quoting him from what felt like long ago: "Ah yes, right. 'She never does. And I—'"

"'—usually don't either,'" he finished, cracking a grin. "You're looking very well."

She smiled. "Thanks." After a pause, she added, "It really is nice to see you. I wasn't just being facetious."

"I knew what you meant."

"You usually do," she said, before her smile faded. "You know," she said, "I've really kind of missed—"

She stopped talking as Magda came by with a plate of little biscuits and other confections, and with a polite smile, Bridget took a chocolate chip biscuit. He grabbed a few powdered tea cakes.

"I've missed seeing you," she said after Magda departed, completing her thought, her expression slightly sad.

He nodded. Saying he missed her too was the first step down a very slippery slope.

"How's—how's Daniel?" she asked. He felt a stab of pain through his centre at his friend's name, wondered if she still had feelings for him, wondered how horrible her days must be working with him on a strictly professional basis. She then added as if reading his thoughts, "I got a new job. I don't see him anymore."

"Oh. He's… well, he's Daniel," he said. "He's seeing an Indian girl now."

Her expression was hard to read, as was her response. "Ah."

"He was a fool—"

"Mark, please," she interrupted. "I'm over it. Really."

He hated to ask, but wanted to know: "Have you found… someone new?"

She shook her head, casting her gaze to the fireplace. "No."

"Ah." He bit his powdered cake. He was kind of relieved in a way to hear it.

"I'm actually doing all right without," she said, smiling crookedly. "You won't take credit, but you helped so much. I can't thank you enough."

"That's what friends—" He stopped short. He hadn't felt like much of a friend in recent weeks. He looked down into his mug, unable to complete the sentence.

She said nothing in response right away, and when she did speak, her voice was gentle and concerned. "Mark, are you all right?"

He didn't answer. He wanted to say he was fine, but he never could lie to her.

"Mark," she said quietly but insistently. "You know, my offer to listen still stands."

He couldn't bear to look at her, because if he did, he would pour the whole story out, and he didn't want to do it in front of even this small crowd. "I know."

"Maybe later?" She reached forward, putting her hand on his forearm.

He nodded, then looked up at last to meet her eyes.

"I understand." She patted his arm, then stood. "I'm going to go ask Magda if she could show you your room. Maybe we can talk once everyone's gone to bed…?" Her tone, her words, was everything tender and encouraging, more than enough to convince him he'd held in his thoughts and feelings for long enough.

He nodded. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoed with a smile. With that she left his side.

………

It was late, later than Mark was used to staying up, but he wanted to be very sure that no one else was awake when he wandered back down to the main room. He felt ridiculously nervous, like they had planned an illicit tryst, though deep in his heart he thought maybe he wished they had. At last he heard no more movement, no other sounds, and decided to head back to the fireplace.

She was already there, waiting for him on the big sofa in front of the fire, two steaming mugs on the small table there. Her big, beaming smile melted his heart and he suddenly couldn't wait to unload his burden into her care.

"I thought maybe you changed your mind," she said quietly. "Or fell asleep or something."

"No," he said as he took a seat. "Just thought it best to wait until everyone else had retired. No sense in—" He stopped, realising he did not want to bring up the rumour from the autumn party, especially when his thoughts had already betrayed his wedding vows. "Well. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "Where shall I start?"

"Wherever you'd like to." She handed him a mug; it was more mulled wine. "Tell me what's making you so unhappy."

As she was so good at doing, she'd cut straight to the heart of it, and he sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"A little." She sipped her drink, not breaking eye contact with him. "Just tell me."

He was so afraid to say it out loud because saying it out loud made it somehow more real. However, he knew he must, and he did:

"I am not happy in my marriage. I don't love my wife. I don't know if I ever have. And I don't know what to do about it."

She blinked. "Wow," she said. "That's… pretty major."

"I know."

"Why did you marry her?" she asked tenderly. "I mean, if you didn't love her."

He chuckled bitterly. "I thought I had good reasons at the time. For years it was enough for me." His pulse was racing. "It isn't anymore."

"What changed?"

He swallowed hard. "I met you."

"What?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"What I mean is," he said, wildly back-pedalling, "that spending so much time with you and Daniel showed me what a loving relationship was really like."

As he said it, he regretted it. She looked down.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to poke at the wound."

She shook her head. "It's all right. I asked." She met his eyes again. "So are you looking for advice on how to maybe… fall in love with her? How to bring that dimension to your marriage?"

"No," he said. "I don't think I am."

She blinked confusedly. "What is it that you're looking for, then? What do you think will make you happy?"

_You._

He wanted to say it so badly but knew he could not, because once that door was opened there would be no going back, and despite the torture these feelings caused him, he did not want to risk losing her friendship for anything.

So instead of confiding any of that, he merely looked down again, and said in a quiet voice, "I don't know."

She didn't say anything right away. The enticing steam and scene of cinnamon and spice tempted him to drink from his mug; he nearly emptied the whole thing at once out of sheer nervousness.

"Is there a reason," she began tentatively, "that you don't, you know, leave her?"

His eyes flashed up to her as if the idea had not occurred to him. Maybe it hadn't, at least not seriously. He suddenly could not think of a good reason why it hadn't.

"Sorry," she continued. "That was stupid of me to say. Obviously you would if you could."

"No," he said. "Don't apologise."

She went on: "It's not, after all, like it would be an easy thing to do, walking away from something like that, something you've invested a good deal in, even in your situation…"

"Admitting that I was unhappy out loud—admitting it to myself—meant that I had failed." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, dangling the now-empty mug from his finger, watching it swing. "I have never been good at accepting failure."

She reached forward and took the cup from his finger, setting it down on the table, then her hand was sliding across the back of his hand, taking it in two of her own. This simple gesture of comfort overwhelmed him with emotion, and he hung his head, feeling tears spring to his eyes, which he immediately cursed himself for.

"It's all right to feel sad," she said. "Even if it's the end of something unpleasant, it's still the end."

"It's not that at all," he said, and it almost sounded cross, but she seemed to know the anger was not directed at her. "Do you know in the time we've been married I have never had a moment of consolation like this when I needed it? She thinks I'm too strong to need it, and I try to be strong, but sometimes I just—"

He froze in mid-sentence when he realised she had slipped one hand from his and stretched an arm across his back, curling her fingers to grasp around his shoulders, bending her head so that her temple was touching his upper arm. Her hip, her thigh were both up against his; he could feel her breast pressing into his side.

"I know," she said softly. He turned slightly to see her lashes brushing against her cheek as she looked to where she still had his hand in hers. "Sometimes you just need a hug."

Before he could rationally think about it, in the space of a moment, he was turning in his seat, freeing his hand to take hold of her face, catching her hair in his fingers, and clumsily bent to firmly, briefly, and chastely press his lips to hers, soft and pliable. He felt like she was burning into him along all points of contact, but especially white-hot was her mouth. The miracle was that she didn't immediately push him away and run at breakneck speed up the stairs; she allowed him this kiss until he pulled back what felt like hours later, the skin of her cheek hot under the palm of his hand as he rested his forehead against hers, trying to compose himself, and thanking God that she hadn't completely bolted.

"Sometimes I guess you need that too," she said gently.

He nodded and lifted his head back to look at her; those blue eyes in such close proximity nearly tore him to shreds inside. He brushed his thumb along her cheek.

"Yes," he said.

"It's all right," she began, covering his hand with her own. "I'm not offend—"

The tenderness, the caring, the magnetism of her presence, all of it broke down his resistance at that moment; he quickly, desperately pressed his lips to hers again to quiet her words, moved his hand to cradle her head, to hold her to him like he might not let go. This time it was no chaste peck; he kissed her earnestly, delicately, reverently, caressing her lips with his, teasing them with his tongue until they parted. When they did it was like a fire igniting his soul; he covered her mouth with his, passionately kissing her with abandon, seeking to satisfy the deeply anguished hunger he felt inside. To his surprise she kissed him with equal fervour, making soft little sounds in his mouth, which only served to intensify his efforts. His free hand moved down the knit of her jumper to grasp at her upper arm, the pale blue weave tight against his fingers.

He was then aware of her hands pressing gently against his collarbones as if to push him away, of her breaking apart from him to breathe in deeply. "Mark," she managed in a rasp.

It was the sound of her voice, the tremor of her tone, that brought him back to the present, to reality, and with ragged breath he reached his hand up to smooth down her hair, pressing his cheek to hers as he closed his eyes, steadying his breath, quelling his unbidden arousal.

"I'm sorry," he said; even as he had loved every moment of that kiss, he had to admit: "I should not have done that."

She was breathing a little unsteadily too. "Just got… caught up in the moment, I think." She chuckled but it sounded forced. "I guess I've been feeling a little lonely, too."

He released her jumper, smoothed that down too, and pulled back from her, even as he wished from that small glimpse of heaven that he could have more. He would have to excuse himself or be tempted to kiss her again. Forcing himself to meet her eyes, he said, "I should probably go to my room, try to get some sleep."

She looked wild, untamed and luscious, her cheeks rosy, her lips still parted and moist. "Um. Yes. I think that would be a good idea."

"Thank you for the talk," he said, having forgotten for a moment that they had not arranged to meet on the sofa for a mad snogging session. "It really helped."

She managed a smile. It was not convincing.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I hope this doesn't make things weird between us."

He chuckled. "I think we'll be all right." Feeling recovered enough at last to rise from the sofa, he reached back down for her hand, then brought the back of it up to his lips for a peck. "Good night, Bridget."

"Good night. Actually—" She rose as well, her hand still in his until she pulled it free. "I'm going to just tidy up our mugs before I go to b—sleep."

With that he proceeded to scale the stairs, then lingered at his door, looking down from the loft as he watched her run her fingers back through her hair before gathering up the mugs and heading for the kitchen. Her self-correction had not escaped his notice.

With his travel case in hand, he ventured to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and otherwise going through the routine of preparing for bed before returning to his room.

He climbed beneath the covers, switched off the lamp, and tried diligently to fall asleep, but had no success. He had been lying back on the bed, gazing up through the panes of glass at the silhouettes of the trees against the cloudy, hazy, moon-bright sky for God knows how long when he heard a gentle tapping at his door. He rose, dressed in his robe, pulling it snugly around him and tying the sash, and went to answer it.

It was Bridget, her face freshly scrubbed clean, her hair clearly just brushed and shining like spun gold against her shoulders. She was wearing a plush housecoat pulled closed and cinched shut, and a very disconcerted look on her face. He stood back, without words inviting her in. She entered, closing the door behind her, then stayed fairly near the door like she was uncertain about having come in the first place. He steeled himself for a talk about how things would not get weird between them because he would not let that happen. He would not let his lack of control ruin one of the closest friendships he had.

She didn't speak at first, and it was hard to discern the state of her expression in the dim of the room. "I had no idea things were that bad for you," she said at last.

"Neither did I," he said, straining for a light tone.

She lowered her head, as if looking down. "I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about—" she began, then hesitated, looping her thumbs on her robe sash. "—you. And whether or not you're really all right… or need anything else."

It was a crossroad moment that ordinarily would have had a very clear and decisive direction for him to choose; but the truth of it was that he had wanted her very much for a long time; his marriage was bereft of love and lust; his resistance had been worn down to nothing; and just for once he wanted something wonderful, something pleasurable, for himself. He only hoped his advances were welcome.

So he stepped forward, took her in his arms and kissed her again with an ardour that quickly surpassed that of their earlier kiss, helped on by her most eager participation. There was a hesitation before he felt her hands on his forearms, then they swept up to his hair, her nails raking down over his sideburns, neck and collarbones, to the vee of exposed chest between the halves of his robe. He shivered as the tie came undone in her hands and she encircled his bare midsection with her arms, grazing her fingers lightly over his back as she leaned into him.

She must have loosened her own robe; this he realised as his bare skin made contact with hers, and he gasped, breaking the kiss at last, taking a step back from her and out of her embrace in his disbelief. Lest she think it some kind of rejection, he quickly raised his hands to her shoulders and pushed the robe over them; for her part, she dropped her arms down to allow the robe to fall to the ground. The moonlight was enough that he could make out the shape of her body, the full swell of her breasts; he wasted no time returning his kiss to her mouth. Eager to become intimately familiar with every curve and bend, he trailed his fingers over her velvety skin, as soft and supple as he'd only imagined, causing her to sigh and tangle her fingers in his hair.

Still engaged in an all-consuming kiss, he backed her up against the bed and in response, she lifted her legs one at a time to kneel upon it, urging his own robe over his shoulders and off. She then broke away from him to lower herself onto the mattress, pulling him forward to join her. He stretched out beside her, leaned over her, continuing his exploration as she made her own; as he became more deeply acquainted with her body, it gratified him to know those little sounds of delight were for him.

The intimacy of their lovemaking went beyond anything he'd ever experienced; he knew this might be the only night he had with her, so he was in no way tempted to rush a moment of it. She was exquisite; soft, and tender, warm and giving, yet at the same time not afraid to direct him in what she desired.

At the moment they joined she arched her head back and cried out; he was quick to cover her mouth with his to stifle her little gasps and utterances as he moved in her, and could feel his own desire building exponentially. The unbelievably heady sensations of their contact coupled with months of wanting her with no relief meant a very powerful and abrupt release, and, still kissing her, he tensed as he thrust forward and groaned into her mouth.

He knew though he could not be truly satisfied until she was, and so he did not cease his motion altogether; he felt her fingers gripping ever more tightly into his back, could hear her breathing get rougher, could feel her tensing and pushing herself up into him. He knew the moment she came by the throaty way she moaned, the fierce way she held onto him as she tightened around him. She broke from his kiss with a long exhale of breath, before her body went utterly slack and seemed to subside into the bed.

He rolled to his side, pulling her with him, and enfolded her in his arms, brushing her sweat-dampened hair away from her face and showering her with tender kisses. He ran his hand down over her arm, then reached to pull the sheets and duvet over them both. He then rested his hand almost possessively on her hip.

A feeling of peace, of security, of wholeness permeated his entire being as they lie there in the afterglow, their limbs entwined, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, the silence an easy one. As he held her close to him, feeling her holding him in return, feeling her lips pressing tenderly against his throat, he thought, _This cannot be all we have._

She shifted to nestle into his neck, her hand splayed on his chest, and she let out a slow, even breath. Soon afterwards, he could tell she had fallen to sleep; although he was physically spent, his mind could not settle down, turning over the thoughts stemming from their talk, from his epiphany. He ran his hand down over the small of her back, then continued until his fingers were curved over her bottom. Very gently he began moving his fingers in small circles, caressing her skin; she sighed and tightened her arm around him.

It saddened him suddenly to think that it had been the exception, not the rule, to fall asleep with his lover curled up to him, clinging to him. Until that moment he didn't realise how truly lonely and miserable he had been.

Mark was not a dramatic man, prone to grand, sweeping and patently ridiculous statements, but at that moment he thought with great conviction that he would do anything—live in a box in Piccadilly Square, swear off human rights law forever, move heaven and earth itself—just to be with her again.

Reality would not be as dramatic as all that, but he was certain now of which path to take.

………

Cool winter light filled the room slowly, and Mark was thankful that he woke before she did, because it afforded him the opportunity to gaze upon her while she slept. The way the oblique sunlight haloed the downy blonde hair on her forearm, her elbow crooked over the edge of the covers; the way her locks splayed beside her as she burrowed into the pillow; the way her lips parted slightly as she slept; he studied it all, hoping he might memorise it.

The brightness level rose just enough to wake her, and he watched as she squeezed her lids tight then blinked sleepily, looking up to him. Her brow ever so subtly wrinkled, then he watched as that unfortunate moment came when the reality of what they'd done hit her, obvious in the way her expression turned into one of alarm.

"Oh God, Mark," she whispered, jerking upright, pulling the sheets to her chin, scanning the room frantically with her eyes, in search of her robe. She spotted it and then tried to free herself from the bed sheets. "I have to get back to my room before anyone notices I never—"

He sat up too, interrupting her panic with a kiss. It was heartening to realise she responded favourably, returning the kiss, until she pulled away, shaking her head.

"No," she said. "Mark, please. Let me go."

He retreated from her, releasing her, startled and wounded.

She pushed back the covers, hastily putting on her robe and cinching it, then turned back to him.

"I don't want to leave," she said in a quiet voice, giving him a sympathetic but frantic look. "I know we have a lot to talk about. Later, I promise."

She rushed to the door, reached for the handle before he unloaded the last of his burden:

"I don't care if anyone here knows you spent the night with me. I love you."

She froze, then faced him again.

"Mark, you're still married. I'm not going to provide her with more ammunition to hate me or to hurt you."

"Not for long."

She knew what he meant, and she shook her head, looking shell-shocked. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "Don't do this to me. Don't say you love me, don't tell me you're _leaving your wife_, after spending one night with me."

He covered his face with his hands, rested his elbows on his raised knees, and realised he did indeed sound like a desperate man clinging to the first woman to show him any affection. He dropped his hands and met her eyes again. "Bridget," he said plaintively. "I have known I loved you since the night Daniel left you. And I'm going to divorce her whether or not you'll have me."

She merely stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

"I—" she began, then stopped, looking intently at him. "I have to go."

She turned and pulled open the door, looking furtively for signs of life before ducking out.

He laid back down, trying not to feel completely forlorn. Rationally he knew she was right; it was foolish to openly flaunt an extramarital liaison amongst people who knew both himself and Tamiko. It didn't make the emptiness any easier to bear.

He turned over, pulling the pillow she'd slept on up close to him. He could smell the faintest trace of that floral perfume she wore. _If that's all I have of you right now,_ he thought, _that will have to be enough._


	4. Part 4 of 6

**Chaos Theory**  
Part 4 of 6

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 31,177 (this part: 6,029)

Rating: M / R

See Part One for details.

* * *

Mark was able to fall back into an uneasy sleep for a couple of hours when the scent of coffee and bacon caught his attention and roused him to consciousness. He then heard a sharp rap on the door, which alarmed him slightly.

"Mark?" It was Magda, sounding positively maternal. "You going to join us for breakfast, or are you going to sleep all day?"

He reached for his wristwatch on the nightstand. Nine a.m. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'll be right down."

He quickly dressed, choosing trousers and a jumper, making a quick stop in the loo to make sure his hair was in some semblance of order and to brush his teeth. He then ventured down to the kitchen, guessing its location by the food smells. He abruptly realised he was quite famished.

At the table was Magda, Jeremy, the couple from the sofa last night that he did not know, Niles from the office and his girlfriend Angela, and Bridget. She was looking down fixedly into her coffee, remnants of scrambled eggs and the crusts from her toast on the edge of her plate.

"Well, good morning, old chap," said Jeremy. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well indeed," Mark said neutrally. "Quite comfortably."

Bridget dared at last to look up at him. She looked troubled.

Jeremy said, "Glad to hear."

Magda brought him a plate stacked with bacon, toast and two eggs over easy, a glass of orange juice, and black coffee.

"I hope you're hungry," she said, delivering his plate.

"Ravenous. Thank you."

He was introduced to the couple he did not know—Fiona and Cosmo, though everyone seemed to call her 'Woney'—and with a smirk, Cosmo said, "I'm surprised you slept a wink. Someone was having a very nice time last night."

Mark fixed his features against any sort of expression betraying his thoughts, but noticed that Niles and Angela shared a look, which relieved him.

"Despite being blanketed in snow," said Magda, sipping her tea and leaning into Jeremy affectionately, "it's lovely outside, one of those delightful crisp days, so we were planning a little hike down to the lake, if anyone's interested."

Mark glanced out the window over the landscape. He wouldn't call it 'blanketed', but Magda was often prone to exaggeration.

"Well, I think that sounds lovely," said Angela, glancing to Niles and beaming.

"Cosmo and I were thinking of spending more time by the fire. This is the first break we've had from the baby and we plan on just relaxing and enjoying each others' company."

Jeremy looked to Mark, then to Bridget. "What about you two?"

Mark didn't really have the shoes for a walk, but he didn't want to sit in the main room all afternoon with a happily married couple mooning over one another, either. He knew how he would have preferred to spend his afternoon, but hell was likely to have to freeze over first.

"I think we're up for a walk too," said Bridget. He looked to her. She was very hard to read, but if she was inviting him for a walk, he would have gone barefoot to go with her.

"Yes, absolutely," he concurred, perhaps a little too quickly.

"I've got some extra boots, since I'm sure the only thing you brought for your feet are your Bruno Maglis," joked Jeremy.

Mark laughed. He glanced up and caught Bridget smirking, too.

It was all he could do not to inhale his food whole so that they might leave sooner, and after what seemed like an eternity, he was finally ready to slip into his jacket and scarf. He strode through to the front porch and the chill was bracing; he drew in a deep breath, feeling invigorated, inspired.

Jeremy clapped him on the back as he, Magda, Niles, Angela and Bridget all came outside at once. He turned to see Bridget all bundled in her coat, scarf and a knit cap, looking adorable. They all descended the front porch and the crunch of snow under the tread of his boots was satisfying. "Better stay near Bridget," Jeremy said. "She's liable to fall and break her neck otherwise."

"Jeremy," scolded his wife.

"No," said Bridget. "He's right." She looked up to Mark through her lashes. "I'm a huge klutz."

Jeremy and Magda led the way, veering down the path to the right. Niles and Angela were hot on their heels, walking hand in hand.

"Well," he said, watching them wander off towards the trees. "Let's have a walk."

They walked side by side down the path; the most they could really make of it was the outline of paving stones and the footsteps of their hosts. After a few minutes, once the density of trees began to increase, Mark spoke. "I'm sorry if I said anything this morning that made you uncomfortable."

"It did, a little," she said, looking down at her feet. "Actually, I felt a little freaked out."

"I'm sorry."

"You said that." She stopped walking, and so did he; he realised she had been hurrying to keep up with his longer strides, her breath trailing behind her, her cheeks ruddy from the cold. "Is it all right if we pause and talk?"

He nodded. "Let's… let's go over there for some privacy."

"Privacy?" she asked with a chuckle. "There's no one around for miles."

He simply looked at her, willing her to understand, then explained at her still-quizzical look, "I'd rather not attract attention should the others come back this way."

"Oh. Sure," she said, then followed him to a circle of trees.

He turned to face her, not knowing if she was poised to say something, or if she was waiting for him to talk. She stepped gingerly to a tree and brushed her gloved hand against the bark, sending the accumulated snow on it shimmering down.

"Actually, _I'm_ sorry," she said at last, turning to him, engaging his eyes.

"What for?"

"Not seeing it sooner." She looked sorrowful. "I should have seen it sooner."

"I did my best to hide it from you," Mark replied. "It's something I'm good at, hiding my feelings."

She took in a deep breath then exhaled. "I'm not talking about you."

He did not know what to say, wasn't even sure he heard her correctly, but then she continued talking.

"I'm still not, you know, _sure_," she said, looking down. "And there's a lot to consider, no matter what those feelings end up being: your wife, for one. I don't want to hurt her."

"She doesn't love me," he said flatly; her eyes flashed up to meet his again. "She's wildly jealous and possessive, but it's my chequebook she really loves."

Bridget blinked in astonishment.

"Were the tables turned," he added, "she'd hurt you in a heartbeat. She's already convinced that you're after my money."

He saw the corner of her mouth turn up momentarily, before turning serious again. "What about you? She could really hurt you financially."

"Don't worry about her hurting me, or you. If there's one thing I did do right in this, it was drawing up an airtight prenuptial."

She pursed her lips. "There's also the matter of my not wanting to be the cause of a long-standing friendship going boom."

"Daniel?" Mark asked, then chuckled. "Daniel himself told me the night he broke it off with you that he thought you deserved better and that it was too bad I was married."

"I…" She seemed to be faltering. "I thought you said he had real feelings for me though."

"I'm sure he did, and he might still," said Mark. "But I don't think he himself could deny that he gave up all claim on you by chucking you, regardless of how he feels."

He waited for the next objection, but she only stood there, looking at him, her eyes wide, almost like she could not believe he'd so deftly deflected her arguments.

"I don't know what else to say," she said at last.

"Maybe you don't have to say anything." He took a step forward, taking hold of her gloved hand. "If you will promise me at least to think about it…."

She nodded, raising her eyes to meet his. Their gazes locked and the blue of her eyes seemed to be the only colour that existed in that pale landscape; he could not look away.

"Maybe we should…" she began, seemingly equally mesmerised.

"Maybe," he said, low in his throat.

At first he thought he was imagining it, but no; she was moving, reaching up with her hand, hesitantly getting up on her toes before lowering again. She was obviously struggling with the courage to engage him in a kiss, which was unbelievably alluring, and he had to fight off the urge to meet her halfway and take her mouth. When she did finally place her gloved hands on either side of his face, finally touched her lips to his, he caught his breath and that restraint shattered; he took her roughly in his arms, meeting every caress on her mouth with equal hunger and tenderness. Her cheeks, her nose, were cool against his face, just as he was sure his was against hers. He cursed the weather for its chill, the layers of coats and scarves that prevented him from being that much closer to her. He felt pressure on the back of his neck, her pulling him forward, falling back against the tree.

Unfortunately, this was done with just enough force to shake the gathered snow free from the tree limbs, dumping powder all over them, causing them to break apart and start to laugh. He looked down upon her face, brushing snow from her cheeks and lashes, and off of her knit hat. She raised her hand and shook snow from his hair, raining it down on her all over again. Her giggle faded, then her smile, and she was just there in his arms, looking almost vulnerable, looking up at him almost… expectantly.

He was not about to let the chance pass by, and as he lowered his head to kiss her again, she raised her lips to meet his. His passion now reignited, he pressed her up against the tree, pressed into her, making her gasp, his lips rough and insistent on hers.

Whether they remained locked together like this for seconds, minutes or hours, he did not know; he was utterly and completely lost in this moment, perfect and serene and beautiful, and in this kiss, her lips warm and responsive. His hands travelled from her waist to her hipbones, which he grasped with his hands before running his palms down her hips. She broke away, placing kisses on the corner of his mouth, then his cheek. "We should go inside," she said in a whisper.

Was it an invitation? Mark thought it was, and as he pulled back from her to stand up straight, he saw her shining eyes, her reddened lips, the puffs of her stuttered breath, and best of all the smile, he wondered how they might steal away unnoticed to either his or her room. He also wondered what the temperature in hell was at present.

"We should," he said, taking a step back and offering her a hand to pull her up from leaning on the tree. He wanted to keep her hand in his as they returned to the cottage, but thought it unwise. She seemed to wordlessly agree, and with him in the lead, they began to follow their own footsteps back to the path.

Suddenly, though, he felt something cold and hard strike him on the back of the neck, exploding forward a shower of snow into his peripheral vision. Puzzled, he turned around and saw her grinning devilishly, snow caking her gloves. He reached back, wiping quickly melting snow from his collar.

"What was that for?" he said, stunned.

Playfully she announced, "I wanted to see if you still liked me if I did something utterly and ridiculously immature."

He laughed. God, he loved how she could draw a laugh so easily out of him. He thought about it for a moment, and then decided that the best response would be with equal and opposite force. In a fluid movement he bent, scooped up a handful of snow, patted it into a small sphere and pitched it at her. It was not the best snow for forming snowballs, but it held together long enough to hit her square in the chest, erupting in all directions, causing her to giggle all over again.

"This could escalate into an all-out snow war," he warned with a playful smile.

"I'd win," she threatened, cocking an eyebrow daringly.

Within moments the two of them were crouching, scooping and throwing as fast as they could, laughing uproariously; the whole thing disintegrated to armfuls of powdery snow being hurled at one another, then her leaping forward, knocking him off balance and landing on top of him.

"Yes," he said, still residually chuckling, looking up at her.

"What?"

"I still like you," he explained.

She grinned, then lowered her head to place a quick kiss on his lips. "You know," she said pensively, "I think I've done all the thinking I'm going to do on this." And then she kissed him again, deeply and passionately.

He didn't care that he was lying in the snow, that it was cold, and his clothing was starting to get soaking wet. She wanted to be with him. He returned the kiss fully; however, this time he broke away, reminding her they really, _really_ should go inside.

………

When they reached the cottage, they were met with very strange expressions on the faces of Cosmo and Woney, curled up in the very place on the sofa where Mark had first kissed Bridget, there in front of the fireplace. "What happened to you?" she asked as they divested themselves of their outerwear and boots.

"I… fell," Bridget offered lamely.

It did not explain why Mark's clothes were wet, and he wasn't sure they actually bought the story, but they shrugged, then went back to their own cuddling.

Bridget drew close. "I'll go upstairs to your room. Make us some cocoa?"

He nodded.

When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to see Jeremy in there. "I didn't know you were all back already."

"Not all, just me. Instructed to warm up some milk for cocoa." He eyed Mark up and down. "I'm guessing you and Bridget would like some as well?"

He nodded. "She fell."

"Uh huh." Jeremy leaned in further. "Mark, I was concerned when I didn't see you behind us anymore, so I backtracked, saw your footsteps diverge from the path, and followed them for a bit." Mark's stomach plummeted to the floorboards. "When did _this_ start?"

"Jeremy, it's not what you think. We were having a snow fight."

"That very intense snogging session against the tree did not look like a snow fight to me."

_Jesus_, Mark thought, covering his face with his hand. "Please. No lectures. I don't need you to point out what a bloody hypocrite I am."

Jeremy chuckled. "Mark, I don't think you're a hypocrite. I know your marital situation is, shall we say, very different from mine." Even more confidentially, he added, "Your wife's a bitch, truth be told. Your secret is safe with me."

Mark was astonished. "What?"

The milk was ready, and he poured two mugs which had already been prepared with drinking chocolate. "There you are. Now get on upstairs. Magda, Angela and Niles should be back any moment. I'll cover for you." He winked.

He couldn't believe his ears, but he was not going to turn down this chance. Cradling the mugs in his hands, looping his fingers through the handles, he picked them up and turned away.

"Oh," added Jeremy. "And should you need, I'll be happy to handle your divorce proceedings. I know Tamiko thinks I'm a blowhard, and I'm looking forward to putting the screws to her."

Mark grinned, offered a silent thank you, then went upstairs.

Bridget had taken the opportunity of stripping out of her wet clothing, hanging them over the footboard of the bed, and she was already in the bed, the duvet tucked up to her chest. She was clearly naked; he tried not to think too much about it with steaming hot milk in his hands and quickly but carefully set the mugs down on the night stand.

"Well," he said seriously. "It would seem we were observed."

She looked stricken. "Oh no. Oh, Jesus, Mark. I'm sor—"

She stopped when she saw his grin. "It was Jeremy," he explained. "He's making excuses for us."

Watching the dawning realisation cross her face was a joy. "Oh. _Oh._"

He pulled his dampened jumper and undershirt off and hung it beside hers on the footboard. He did the same for his socks and trousers. He heard her snicker.

"Boxers? Really?"

He turned and fixed her with a mock-wounded look as she grinned at him impishly. He loved every moment of this. For the first time, he felt like he was not just existing, but _living_.

"Mind you," she continued, "I'm not complaining about… _this_." She waved her hand up and down, as if to indicate his body. He suddenly felt very self-conscious. Her smile turned warm and her look, dare he say it, gooey. "Not at all."

"You must be cold," he said, his voice suddenly rough.

She nodded. "I do have this cocoa here, but I wouldn't mind reinforcements."

He stepped towards the bed.

"Um," she said, "you might want to lose the boxers. They might, after all, be damp from the snow too."

Having done as told, he slipped in beside her; the feel of her warm, soft body against his was immediately arousing and he practically turned her and pinned her down to the bed as he kissed her. He loved the feel of her skin yielding under his hands, of her mouth on his, the way she moved with him, the gasps and sighs she made as he touched her, as they made love.

Mindful of the fact that other guests might be passing by his door, he tried to still his cries, but unfortunately was not entirely successful. He was still far too intoxicated at the thought of having her as his own. Afterwards he rested his head upon her shoulder, and as she combed his hair with her fingernails, he heard her lightly laugh.

"Something funny?"

"Not ha-ha funny," she replied. "I just never in a million years imagined my little getaway weekend would turn into… well… this."

"This?"

"You know. A weekend shagathon."

He snorted a laugh. Of all of his expectations of the house party, that had never even crossed his mind.

"I am a little afraid, though," she continued.

"Afraid?" He pushed himself up to look at her. "Of what?"

She contemplated her words. "One of the things I like about our friendship is that it's always so easy to talk to you," she said. "I'm so scared that will change."

"There isn't any reason it should," he said, brushing tendrils of hair from her face. "I've spent too long keeping how I feel bottled up inside, and I don't want you to start."

A smile found her lips.

"I especially want you to talk to me if it's me you're troubled about."

She chuckled. "Okay."

He rested his head on her shoulder again, started tracing circles with his fingertips on her skin, pushing down the edge of the sheet to reveal her breast.

"In the interest of full disclosure," he said quietly as he continued drawing a lazy circle around then cupping her breast with his hand, brushing a thumb over the hardening nipple there, "I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."

"Chuh," she said, but he could see the colour rising on her skin.

"I could look at you for hours and not get tired of it."

"Mark," she joked, running her fingers over his hair, "that's verging on creepy."

He chuckled, then reached to place his mouth over her breast.

It was the worst possible time for not only his mobile to ring, but for it to be Tamiko's ringtone.

"Christ," he muttered, pulling away, rolling over for the bedside table, yanking open the drawer and getting the phone.

"Do you have to answer it?" she asked meekly, drawing the covers back over her.

Tamiko rarely called his mobile but when she did, it was usually a matter of life and death, at least to her. He sighed. "I'm afraid so."

He flipped it open, steeled himself, brought it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Mark. I need you to come home right now."

He furrowed his brow, which caused Bridget to do the same. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something's _wrong_," Tamiko said huffily. "I completely forgot that I accepted a dinner invitation for tonight."

"What do you need me for?"

"Because I accepted it for _us_, that's why."

"I never agreed to any such dinner."

"But this is good for your career. It could make you so much—"

"I don't care about that," he said. "If you want to go, make some kind of social connection with big money, that's fine. I have no interest in that."

She was quiet. "What is _wrong_ with you? Why are you being so obstinate? Just come home already."

The thought of going back to her made him feel slightly nauseous. "I will not. Now I'm hanging up this call, I'm turning off this phone, and I'm enjoying my stay here. And when I come back to town, you and I need to have a very serious discussion."

"What in God's name has gotten in—?" she shrilled before he ended the call, then pressed and held the power button to turn it off altogether before tossing it down to the carpet.

Bridget didn't ask who it was (as if it wasn't obvious enough), nor did she ask what the call was about; she merely sat up and reached to take him into an embrace, not anything borne of passion or desire, but of comfort and caring.

"I'm afraid my future will be holding a good deal more conversations like that one," he said into her hair.

"I'm sorry."

"If I've got you to turn to," he said, "I think I'll manage somehow."

………

Jeremy, bless his soul, was a genius. He had told the other guests that Mark and Bridget had both come down with a cold after that walk (and fall) in the snow, and were going to spend the rest of the day quarantining themselves upstairs in order to recuperate. Jeremy had realised soon after his promise to Mark that he was going to have to let his wife in on the secret, as revealed by Magda when she came up to deliver two steaming bowls of soup for lunch later that day. Magda also revealed she was equally willing to keep the secret, was equally aware of Tamiko's dislike of her—and very thrilled to see her friends so obviously happy.

"I'll be back for your tray some time later," she said with a little smile before whisking up the now-cold mugs of cocoa and departing.

"People are going to know," lamented Mark with a smirk. "They're going to see me smiling all of the time and they're going to know."

They had donned their robes to greet Magda, and now sat on the bed spooning soup into their mouths. She looked almost bashfully down into her bowl, then up at him, a slight crease furrowing her brow. "It's nice to see you smiling all of the time."

"Then why the baleful expression?"

She stirred her soup in a fussy way. "When I think of the loneliness you've endured all this time with no one to talk to about it… I can't bear to think of it."

"Believe me, I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were inconveniently part of the conundrum," he said; it was easy to be flippant about the turmoil it had caused him now that it was out in the open.

"How long?"

"Hm?"

"How long did you… I don't know, like me?"

"Well, I've always _liked_ you," he replied as he continued to eat. It was the best chicken soup he'd had in some time. "But it wasn't until everyone at Una's party thought we were having an affair that I really had to step back and examine our friendship, to see if I could see what they had seen. That's when I realised I had deeper feelings for you than just friendship."

"That's when you distanced yourself," she said, the light clearly dawning. "But you said you knew you loved me the day Daniel chucked me. That was in October. You've been sitting on this all this time?"

He nodded. "I didn't want to do anything foolish with you still smarting from your split with Daniel. Catching you on the rebound would have done neither of us any good. I wanted to be sure about everything before making any rash decisions… so I thought if I redirected my energies back to my own marriage, I might be happy. I should have known better."

She looked wistful. "That must have been awful for you."

"It's nothing I'd like to relive," he said, then added, hoping to cheer her, "but it had a really great payoff." She offered a little smile.

He finished his soup, and stood to set the bowl down on the small dresser by the window. He turned and looked at her as she continued to eat, casting his thoughts back to almost a year ago and all of Daniel's exploits with that 'junior colleague' he'd asked out from work. Mark was not the world's greatest or most experienced lover, and he wondered suddenly how he compared to his friend, wondered about her own feelings, wondered if she had in fact had enough time to get over a man she'd clearly been having very serious thoughts about.

"May I ask you a question?" he asked hesitantly, leaning against the dresser.

"Hm?" she asked, swallowing her soup. "May you ask me a question?" She very nearly giggled. "You've spent the morning doing things to me that people still don't speak of in polite company. Ask away."

He cleared his throat. "Was last night a surprise?" It stunned him to think it had only been last night.

She smiled. "Very much so."

He looked down. "What I mean is: Had you ever thought of me in that way before last night?"

"No," she said. "You were a friend, a good friend, a _married_ friend. I mean, I thought you were a pretty handsome guy, but you were totally off limits."

"Oh."

She stood, setting her own bowl down, then went over to him. "You don't have to look so crestfallen." She leaned on the dresser next to him, putting her arm around his waist. "I had—still have—very strong feelings for you as a friend. And once I knew the full details of your situation, the depths of your unhappiness, and then the depths of your feelings for me… well, obviously things can change very quickly."

He put his arm around her shoulders, leaned into her, and pressed a kiss into her hair.

She chuckled, settling into his embrace, slipping an arm around his own waist.

"What?"

"Just thinking," she said, squeezing the hand on his hip. "Who would have guessed such a tiger was lurking under those suits?"

He felt the heat of embarrassment wash over his entire person, and lest she feel it, he pulled away a little.

"What?" she asked, turning to look at him. She then grinned, undoubtedly upon seeing the cordovan tone of his skin. "Oh, don't be shy about that, Mark. You have given me a day I'll _never_ forget."

"I just…" If he had pockets, he would have pushed his hands into them. "I've never had a large repertoire of skills and techniques to dazzle and amaze…"

She laughed. "Arcane skills and exotic techniques aren't everything," she said, offering a crooked smile. "The best part of sex happens up here—" She stopped to point at her temple. "—and knowing you're loved goes a _very_ long way." She took a step back, tilting her chin up, hooking a thumb into her robe sash. "Now stop trying to deflect my compliments, and maybe try to dazzle and amaze me in your own way."

He had thought he loved her with the whole of his heart, but at this proclamation, he realised he loved her even more than he thought possible. He stood up from the dresser, strode two very purposeful steps, tugged open her robe and took her around her waist, pulling her to him. He lowered his head and said, before taking her breath away with a deep kiss, "If you insist."

………

Day turned into night, which passed all too quickly in her arms, and with the rays of morning sun a new sadness and dread struck Mark: the thought of having to part from her and return to clean up the shattered debris of his marriage, return to sever things completely with a woman he never should have married, and start a much happier chapter of his life.

One with Bridget in it.

The party was scheduled to break up after breakfast, so they gathered their things and appeared downstairs for the first time since early Saturday. It was all he could do not to touch her, to sustain some kind of contact as they took their seats side by side around the large table.

Oatmeal was served; Bridget asked for honey or brown sugar and he asked her for it when she was finished. Magda was smugly smiling as she poured an orange juice for them. Cosmo and Woney exchanged glances and grins; Niles and Angela both looked like they were each holding in a chuckle.

"Feeling better?" asked Niles.

Mark and Bridget answered in unison: "Much, thanks." They looked to one another, fighting a smirk.

As they ate, it became ever more apparent that the rest of the party guests had already guessed that the real reason for their sequestration had nothing to do with illness. At the conclusion of the meal, Niles, still grinning, confirmed this by saying confidentially to Mark, "The worst-kept secret of the weekend will no doubt be well-kept by all of us."

Still hoping to play it off as a cold, Mark said, "What do you mean?"

"Mark, old boy, the reason half the guests didn't show up this weekend had more to do with your wife than the weather, so if you're planning on chucking her, we're certainly not going to make it any harder for you."

Mark suddenly felt like a huge chump. How had he never noticed before that so many of his friends and colleagues did not like Tamiko? What had they really thought of him for choosing such a woman as his wife? How had he ever come to choose her for a wife, anyway? How had he not seen what they'd seen? He was suddenly grateful for having come to his senses—and contrite for having tortured those around him for so long.

"Oh, Mark," said Magda, affecting a light and innocent tone. "We've got to bring a whole bunch of blankets back with us to town, and won't have the room for an extra passenger. Would you mind if Bridget rode with you?"

"Not in the least," he said, sustaining the crumbling cover story, but smiling at Bridget.

………

His fingers were entwined for the entire ride with hers, and they spent a good deal of time in a very pleasant silence, until he declared firmly, "I won't spend another night in that house."

"What?"

"I'm going back there to tell her it's over, and then I'm leaving."

She squeezed his hand. "You're going to lose your house, half your things, half your money—"

"The house, I never could stand. She can have it. As for my things and my money, remember what I said about the prenup."

"Still, the legal expenses alone are going to drain you."

He couldn't help but smile. "Bridget, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? If you need help, any money, need a place to stay…"

He outright chuckled. "Darling, my professional fees start at hundreds of pounds an hour. I will be fine."

He hadn't realised how little she'd considered his money until he said that, and she looked positively shocked… at least he thought that's the reason she went silent, until she smiled and said, "'Darling'?"

"What, I can't call the woman I love 'darling'?"

She smiled even more broadly, then blew him a kiss. "Now keep your eyes on the road."

Sheepishly, he turned his eyes forward. Honestly, he hadn't even realised he'd been looking at her for that long.

………

Of all the reactions he was expecting from Tamiko, laughter and disbelief was not one of them. "Oh, Mark, stop joking with me."

"This is no joke."

She had, of course, forgotten (or chose to ignore) the argument they'd had via the mobile on Saturday night. She now stared at him, her mirthful countenance falling flat at seeing his serious expression. "What on earth are you talking about, 'divorce'? Why now? Why all of a sudden?"

"It's not sudden for me," he said. "I've come to realise I am not happy in this situation, and I need to remove myself from it."

Tamiko narrowed her eyes. "I know what this is about. That little publicist slut is after your money."

"No, she's not."

"She's talked you into this so she can wiggle her way into your life."

"Nothing could be further from the truth." Bridget had quite insinuated herself in his heart without any conscious work on her part. "I'm going to get a few things, and then I'm going to leave. Tomorrow I speak with Jeremy to get this in motion."

"Going to stay with her?" she sneered.

"I'll be staying at The Carlton." He knew that even with such an airtight prenup, staying with Bridget was a mistake until things were finalised. "Don't worry. I know the prenuptial says the house is negotiable, but you can have it. I never cared for it as much as you did. In fact, I won't fight you on any of the negotiable items. I just want this over as quickly and painlessly as possible."

Unsurprisingly, she looked slightly less shell-shocked now. "And you're sure about this whole thing? Splitting up?"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

She still had her chin lifted high, but he saw her nod slightly. "You don't need to stay somewhere else, Mark. If you really want to do this, you can just take another of the rooms."

"No," he said. "I do need to stay elsewhere." He met her eyes again. "Don't worry, Tamiko. You'll be very comfortable when all is said and done."

She pouted, and true to her nature, she said, "I'll probably have to start working again."

"You were very good at what you did."

She smiled. "I was, wasn't I?" She sighed. "Where did we go wrong, Mark?"

His honest answer, that they should never have gotten married to begin with, sat unspoken on the tip of his tongue, but as much as he wanted to be out of this marriage, he did not want to be cruel to her, so he just looked down. "I should get my things and go."

She nodded. "Okay."

After packing up his toiletries, necessities, and a few suits, he headed for the front door. "Well. I'll be in contact." Without a kiss, without a tender touch, he departed, heading for his vehicle, feeling lighter and lighter with every step. As he put the car into gear and drove away, he was grinning from ear to ear.

He would soon be free.


	5. Part 5 of 6

**Chaos Theory**  
Part 5 of 6

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 31,177 (this part: 5,979)

Rating: M / R

* * *

After settling into a suite at the Carlton, he flipped open his phone as he sat on the bed, then dialled.

"So?" was how she answered his call.

"It's done."

She sighed. "How did it go?"

"Well, aside from calling you a very unflattering name, very well, considering."

"That doesn't surprise me," she said with a chuckle. "She never did like me."

"Once I told her she could have the house, she calmed down considerably."

"I'll bet." After a pause, she said, "Where are you?"

"I took a suite at The Carlton. I figured I'd be beyond suspicion here as it's gentlemen only."

She laughed lightly, then sighed. "It's funny, as I hadn't seen you for months and months before this weekend, but… I miss you terribly."

He looked around the room; it felt suddenly, cavernously lonely. "I wish you were here."

She was quiet for a moment, undoubtedly thoughtful. "You're playing this all very nonchalantly," she said, "but I bet you're feeling pretty raw right now."

It amazed him how well she knew him. "And slightly unsettled. But yes."

"And I can't come see you?"

"No." He wasn't sure that was entirely true, but he didn't need witnesses to her arrival, and she was nothing if not memorable. "I have a few more phone calls to make."

She was silent for a moment. "Daniel."

"Among others, but yes." He leaned back against the headboard. "Would it be all right if I come to see you afterwards?"

She laughed. "I can't believe you're asking. Of course it's all right. I didn't ask because I didn't think you'd want to take the chance."

He felt slightly better. "Well, the sooner I finish, the sooner I can see you."

"I'll be waiting with a big hug for you."

He smiled. "I'm looking forward to that."

"Bye," she said. After a pause, she added, "I'll be thinking of you."

"I know," he replied, taking in a breath. "Bye."

He disconnected. The thought of seeing her at the conclusion of these calls, knowing she was thinking of him, would make this so much easier. He then took in another breath, dialled another number.

"Mark!" his mother said upon answering. "To what do I owe the pleasure this evening?"

"A very great pleasure, I'm sure," he said with a grin, anticipating his mother's reaction before he continued. "I've asked Tamiko for a divorce."

She was silent, likely due to shock. "You did what? Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes. And you don't have to hide your glee. I know you never liked her. I am starting to wonder how any of you put up with me all this time. Surely you must have thought I'd lost my senses."

To his surprise and delight, she started to laugh. "Mark, you sound so _happy_."

"That probably isn't normal for a man who's just asked his wife for a divorce," he conceded, "but I've been so unhappy for so long and not acknowledged it… I guess I can't help it."

"I'm glad you did," she said. "You're my son and I love you no matter what, and you're an adult capable of making decisions, so I never said anything… but I seriously questioned your choice in wife."

He chuckled. He suspected this reaction to his announcement would be the norm.

"So did anything in particular prompt this to happen?" she asked. "Or any_one_?" He could hear the smile in her voice. "I know what you _told_ me, Mark, but I also know what I saw."

He sighed. "And once again," he said deliberately, "everyone else saw what I didn't."

He heard her take in a breath. "Are you saying…?"

"No, we were _not_ having an affair at the time," he assured. "But situations and circumstances have… changed."

"Mark, be careful," she said. "Bridget's a delightful girl, but leaving your wife for her—"

"Mother," he said. "I'm not leaving my wife for her. I'm leaving my wife, and she just so happens to want to have me."

When she spoke again, she sounded downright smug. "You've always been a very sensible boy, Mark. I love you and I'm happy for you."

That's really all he needed to hear.

He said his goodbyes with his mother, disconnected the call, then made his next call.

"Hey Mark."

Daniel.

"Are you busy?" Mark asked.

"Just getting ready for a meeting tomorrow. What's up?"

He realised at that moment that he wanted to break the news to Daniel in person.

"Are you free for a drink?"

He could hear the shuffle of papers. "Right now? Sure, I could use a break. Name the place."

"The bar at the Carlton."

"See you in half an hour."

After combing his hair and otherwise making sure he looked all right, Mark headed down to the bar. Daniel was a little late but had a smile for his friend when he showed… at least until he beheld Mark's undoubtedly sombre expression.

After ordering a vodka on the rocks, he turned to Mark. "So. What's going on? You look serious, mate."

"I have some news."

Daniel was attentive, clearly waiting for said news.

"I walked out on Tamiko tonight."

Daniel blinked, then grinned. "Mark, that's _good_ news."

Mark took a sip of his own drink, a scotch and soda. "I know."

"So why the long face?"

"I'm love with another woman."

"That's even better news. You've needed something like this—"

"Daniel," he said, interrupting his friend. "It's Bridget."

Daniel simply stared at Mark. It was some moments before he spoke. "Bridget? The same Bridget I—"

"Yes," was all he said.

Daniel leaned heavily on the edge of the bar, then lifted his drink to his lips, taking down half of it in one swallow.

"Wow," he said, looking down into his tumbler. "I didn't see that one coming."

"Neither did I."

Daniel looked to him again. "You didn't—not while we were still together—"

"No," said Mark emphatically. "Only just… this weekend."

Daniel's astonishment was obvious in the rapid way he blinked. "How long have you known?"

"That I loved her? Ironically, the night you chucked her was when I admitted it to myself for the first time. And then this weekend…"

"Jesus." Daniel ran his fingers through his hair. "And all that time you were urging me not to chuck her…"

"I know." Mark waited for Daniel to look at him again before he said, "I'm sorry."

He laughed bitterly. "Why should you be sorry? You did everything right. Not your fault I let such a good thing slip away. Rather, gave such a good thing a boot out the door." He slugged back the rest of his drink, indicated to the bartender to pour another. "And how does she feel about you? Wait, no, that's impertinent of me to ask."

Mark wasn't sure how to answer, anyway. She had admitted to having strong feelings, had told him she had done all the thinking on it she was going to do, but he didn't know truly where he stood.

"I told you she deserved better than me," said Daniel with a half-hearted grin. "Cheers to the both of you." He picked up his second drink and took a sip.

"Daniel, I don't want this to ruin our friendship."

"Mark," he said firmly. "The only thing I'm mourning is my own stupidity. You didn't sweep her out from under me, didn't swoop in and catch her on the rebound, didn't try to talk me into dumping her… you got her fair and square, and you are, as I said before, the better man."

Swirling the last of his scotch around, Mark said, "I still think you could have a good chance with someone worth having. You just need to stop undercutting yourself, stop being afraid of those sorts of deep feelings, and let it just happen."

"Yeah, I know," said Daniel. "Easier said than done."

"I learned that the hard way, too."

"So," said Daniel, after a few moments of companionable silence. "How does she feel about you and I remaining friends?"

"One of her objections to, well, _us_," said Mark, "was a fear of ruining my longstanding friendship with you. So I daresay she is all right with it."

"Ah. And how does she feel about me? Has she forgiven me enough that she and I might be friends?"

"I can't honestly answer that," said Mark, "but she has never said a bad thing about you."

"That's promising, though I'm sure she unloaded on her girlfriends about me," said Daniel, daring to grin again. "Speaking of which, have you met them yet?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't think I probably will until everything is final."

"True, true, that would be wise… Oh, Christ, what about Tamiko? Does she know about Bridget?"

"No, and I don't plan on telling her."

"Covering your arse for legal proceedings?"

"There is something to be said for discretion, even in this day and age, and while I have a very good prenup, I'm not taking any chances," said Mark, smiling too. He clapped his hand on Daniel's shoulder, then left it there reassuringly. "Of everything about this whole situation, breaking this to you was the one thing I dreaded most. And you've handled it with grace and maturity."

Daniel looked down.

"I do have one last question for you, though," said Mark; this was the hardest one to ask. "I want you to be honest. What are your feelings for Bridget now?"

He closed his eyes. "Bridget will always be the one I let get away, and I am always going to care very much about her."

"Do you love her?"

"I suppose I do," he said, looking to Mark again. "And I'm not going to lie and say seeing her again isn't going to hurt a little bit, because I know it will."

"I'm sorry."

Daniel laughed. "There you go again, apologising. Knock it off." He took in the last of his drink, then stood. "I had my chance, I blew it, and I know it. Maybe some day I'll take the lesson learned and make it work in my favour. But most importantly, and I'm sure this is what you were trying to oh-so-diplomatically ask: I'm not going to try to win her back and I'm not going to say anything to that bloody harpy of a soon-to-be-ex of yours to ruin your chance at happiness. So don't worry."

"Thanks."

"Hey, no worries. No woman should ever come between friends." He leaned in. "So when do you get to see her again?"

"I'm going 'round to her flat next."

Daniel grinned. "Have you been yet?"

"No. Well, I know where it is, but I haven't been up yet."

"I'm not sure it's quite your cup of tea," he said enigmatically before leaving the bar. "Thanks for the drinks. See you on Wednesday for lunch."

………

As he approached Bridget's building, Mark became slightly apprehensive, wondering what on earth Daniel could have meant by his statement. He stood on the front stoop, rang the bell and waited for her voice over the intercom.

"Yes?"

"It's Mark."

There was a pause. "Come on up. Top flat."

He heard the lock release on the front door, so he entered and headed up the staircase to the top landing, then knocked. Within moments the door swung open, and he saw Bridget standing there, smiling unsurely.

"Hi," she said. "Come on in."

"Everything all right?"

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. "Yeah. Fine."

Mark felt the cold chill of dread wash over him. _She's had time to think,_ he said to himself, _and now she's regretting everything._

She led him up the short flight of stairs into the flat proper. Even as he had these worried thoughts, he was immediately charmed by the warmth of her place: the walls were covered with photos and colourful, unique bits of art; the furniture was mismatched but looked utterly comfortable and homely; little personal touches could be found as far as the eye could see, like Christmas fairy lights over the threshold of into the kitchen and a large-headed alien keychain hanging by the entryphone. The flat was so undeniably _hers_ that he couldn't help but love it.

"Bridget, please tell me what's the matter."

She sighed, casting her eyes down. "Nothing's wrong, per se," she said; he watched as she actually started wringing her hands. "I'm just… well, you live in a big, beautiful house, and I live in this messy little dive, and…." She drifted off. This was about her flat?

"I've already told you I don't like that house."

"But—"

"No 'buts'," he said. "Your flat is everything my house is not, and best of all, it has you in it."

A smile started to bloom over her face. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Oh, thank heavens," she said. "I was so worried you'd come up, take one look at this disaster area and run for Notting Hill as fast as your legs could carry you."

He laughed.

"And where are my manners…" She strode forward, got up on her toes, embraced him around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips before nestling her cheek against his. "I promised you a hug."

He put his arms around her, holding her very close to him. "Thank you," he said softly into her ear. The scent of her perfume was emotionally overwhelming, and he squeezed his arms around her, placing a kiss against her hairline.

She released her hold on him then dropped her heels to the floor. "Why don't you come and sit on the sofa and tell me how it all went?"

She indicated the settee, which, after slipping out of his shoes, he went to and sat on. The fireplace was blazing warmth and cast a lovely light over the immediate area. She sat beside him, reaching for his hands, looking up into his eyes. "So. Tell me."

"It went very well."

"It really did?"

He nodded. "My mum was thrilled, and Daniel… he took it better than I anticipated, though it was as I thought, about him saying he had blown his chance—"

"Wait," she began, "you told them about me, too?"

"Yes."

"What if Tamiko hears?"

"Darling," he said, "there is no way on God's green earth that either of them are going to tell her anything of the sort. I'm not worried about that in the least. Tonight… tonight I just want to sit here with you and have you smooth my feathers down."

She grinned. "My generosity when it comes to a hug knows no bounds." She let go of his hands, swung her legs across his, then reached to take him in her arms, pulling him back with her as she rested against the arm of the settee.

He felt her fingers comb into his hair, felt her breath skating against his temple, and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

"As much as you want to be free of her," she said quietly between tender kisses against his hair, "it must have been a very difficult thing to do today. It's hard enough to break up with someone, but telling someone you want a divorce… I can't even imagine."

"It _was_ one of the hardest things I've ever done," he said, "but her drama and tantrums I have learned to handle, and I knew exactly what to do to turn things in my favour." He sighed. "No, that was not nearly as hard as telling you how I felt about you, because I was terrified of your rejecting me out of hand and cutting me out of your life altogether."

She stopped all motion, causing him to turn to look at her. The look on her face was one of such tenderness and concern he was moved to stroke her cheek with his fingers.

"I'm sorry I ever caused you such pain," she said.

He smiled. "If that pain meant this happiness," he said, "then it was worth every moment."

She smiled, then reached forward to kiss him. It did not take long for the kiss to deepen from care and concern into utter want, and he quickly found himself reaching for the hem of her shirt, looking for entrance to touch the creamy skin of her abdomen.

"Mark, wait," she said between breaths.

He stopped, looking at her with confusion.

"I have a bed, you know."

He could not help but chuckle. "You are not what I would call a subtle woman," he said, causing her to smile. He twisted and kneeled and managed to stand with her in his arms, his hands under her arse, her legs around his waist and her arms linked around his neck, kissing her in between her giggles as she directed him to her bedroom.

"I can't stay," he said after setting her on the edge of her bed, kneeling before her, running his hands along her thighs.

"I know," she replied.

"Our time together's going to be sporadic and limited until the div—"

She then leaned forward and kissed him; he felt it wise to keep conversation to a minimum for the duration.

………

Though it was difficult to do so, he knew he was going to have to leave her embrace, dress again in his trousers and jumper and return to the Carlton. She was resting upon his chest, her hair tousled and splayed over him.

"Darling," he said.

She was dozing, but when he spoke, she opened her eyes, raised her head, and smiled.

He continued. "I'll have to leave soon."

Her expression turned melancholy, but she nodded.

He could not help pushing himself up, gathering her in his arms and pulling her into another kiss, which soon reignited the embers of passion and threatened to derail his departure plans until she giggled and reared her head back into the pillow, pushing on his shoulders playfully.

"This is not the way one goes about leaving for the night," she said, looking up at him from beneath him.

"I know," he said. He dropped his head; she kissed him in the centre of his forehead. "Setting myself up for more torture, I am, coming to see you and knowing I can't stay."

"It won't always be that way," she said. He raised his head to be able to take one last long look at her before leaving. She smiled faintly, said his name tentatively.

"Yes?"

She gazed into his eyes unblinkingly, raising a hand to trace a finger over his eyebrow, down along his cheek, over his sideburn, to his lower lip. She then spoke.

"I do love you."

Surprised but happy to hear the words, his spirits were immediately buoyed, his confidence to make it through the long periods without her restored, and he smiled, his voice heavy with emotion as he spoke. "My darling Bridget. I love you, too."

He smiled with utter joy before lowering his mouth to cover hers again, suddenly not caring so much about leaving straightaway.

………

The following day was unbearable; the day beyond that slightly easier to take; before he knew it, he'd secured another house, had this personal items moved there, and took residence in this new place. He had not yet had Bridget over, as much as he'd wanted to, though he still made the occasional foray to her flat for a rendezvous. Mark had as little interaction with Tamiko as possible, and he was as good as his word with the negotiable items on the prenuptial; consequently she was very well-behaved and cordial when they did meet.

On the first day of June, Mark found himself driving to where Bridget worked, a television production studio. He had been by there to drop her off or pick her up for the occasional covert lunch together, but he had never actually gone inside. This time he parked his vehicle, strode through the front door, and took the elevator to her offices.

At the front desk, he was given a suspicious look by the receptionist, but she stood and pointed to a desk in the open plan office. He followed the direction of her finger and could see Bridget sitting there, her back to the foyer, wearing headphones and working diligently on something at her computer.

"Thank you," he said politely, then made his way over to her desk, fighting a smile the entire time.

When he got to her desk, he simply stood there silently, waiting for her to realise he was there. As she did, she gasped and got to her feet, taking the headphones from her ears, looking around furtively. "Mark!" she said in a horrified gasp. "What are you doing he—"

Quick as lightning he took her into his arms and quieted her with a kiss, which she seemed to enjoy for a split second before she remembered she was surrounded by her co-workers, and pulled away.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I am, a little." With that he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a thrice-folded sheet of paper, handing it to her.

"What's this?" she asked, drawing her brows together as she unfolded it. As her eyes scanned over it, they widened then looked back up to him. "It isn't," she said, clearly in awe.

"It is."

His divorce decree.

Her face lit up with the hugest smile he'd ever seen, and she jumped up to throw her arms around him, hugging him very tightly before lifting her chin and kissing him again. This time nearby co-workers began to hoot, holler and applaud, and she broke away to bury her face in his suit in her total mortification.

"You know what this means," he said quietly to her.

"You're free."

"Well, yes," he said, grinning. "But it means I don't have to leave."

She quickly raised her head up again to look at him, her mouth slightly agape for a moment before she smiled, then tears flooded her eyes and she hugged him tight again.

"Maybe," he continued, "it could be you that doesn't have to leave."

Her arms tightened around him, and he could feel her nodding within his embrace. After a few minutes, she drew away, sniffing and wiping away under her eyes, but still grinning.

"Are you all through with work?" he asked. "Because I have this house that I'm dying to show you."

She grinned almost shyly, then turned her eyes back to her desk, looking instantly dejected. "I really should finish—"

"Oh bloody hell, Bridget," called out the nasal, whiny voice of a man, presumably her boss, from behind him. "Just fucking go. You'll be useless the rest of the day, anyway."

She looked shocked. "Thank you, Richard. Thank you."

"Bah," he said. "Just don't be fucking late tomorrow."

She gathered up her purse and her sunglasses from her desk and pushed in her chair, moving around him towards the elevator, when he tugged on her sleeve and cleared his throat.

She turned her eyes to him inquisitively.

He merely held out his hand, then looked down to it pointedly before looking up to her again.

Her grin broadened as she placed her hand in his and clasped it tight.

………

The house was smaller than his previous one, but still much larger than Bridget's flat, and when she saw it her mouth dropped open again of its own accord. He touched her chin to prompt her to close it, and she turned to him with a smile.

"It's _gorgeous_."

"I thought so, too."

"It's huge!"

He chuckled. "Matter of perspective I suppose," he said, scaling the front steps, drawing out the key. "Though I hardly fill half the place with my things."

He opened the front door and let her in, watching for her reaction. Like the other house, this one too was decorated in a very minimalist, almost Spartan manner, but for very different reasons.

"Oh," she said, clearly torn about what to say; her eyes showed how impressed she was with the home itself, but she was struggling to verbalise her feelings: "It's, um…"

"I know. White." He grinned; she blushed and giggled. "However, I hardly wanted to start making design choices without the input of someone I hope to have spending a lot of time here."

She turned her eyes back to him and gave him such a loving, happy smile that he could not help but do so in return. He strode forward, took her hand again, and pulled her close for a kiss. What he was really thinking, what he really wanted to say, was to tell her to come and live with him so that they might have every moment they could together; but he was newly divorced and they had spent so long keeping the relationship under wraps that he felt they both needed time to adjust to openly dating. He usually cared little for what others thought of him, but he suspected that having another woman move in with him so soon after the divorce was final would have raised some eyebrows.

He heard a rapping at the door, then the creak of the hinges; in her haste to come in Bridget had not closed the door all the way, and he turned away from her to see it swinging open, to see Tamiko standing there, her expression blank, her posture imperious. "Mark," she said coldly.

"Tamiko," he said politely, almost subconsciously shielding Bridget from her glare. "What are you doing here?"

"And Bridget. Nice to see you again," Tamiko said, her voice laden with sarcasm. "Don't worry, I'm not here to interrupt your little love-fest," she said. "I just needed to speak to Mark in private for a moment."

He sighed, squeezing Bridget's hand before letting it go. "I'll be right back."

He led Tamiko into the front sitting room, pulling the door closed; he didn't really care for her request for privacy, but knew if he gave her what she asked for, she'd just be gone that much faster.

"I just wanted you to know," she said without preamble, "that I've known all along about your little fling with _her_. I forgive you for lying about it."

"I never lied to you about her," he said, keeping his features neutral, "and frankly, I could not care less about having your forgiveness."

She snorted a laugh. "Bent the truth, then, or conveniently left out important details. You are, after all, well-trained in verbal acrobatics. But I know she was there in the country that weekend, coincidentally the same weekend immediately before announcing you wanted a divorce from me."

He wondered who let it slip.

She continued, uninterrupted: "I do still have friends in this world, you know, and one of them overheard some little brainless blonde thing talking to a friend about you and how cute it was that you two were playing sick when it was so obvious what you were really upstairs doing."

It must have been Niles' girlfriend. He could feel the muscles in his jaw tensing even though there was little point to getting upset about it now and the girl certainly did not mean to let the cat out of the bag. He thought about explaining that he had no idea Bridget would be there, but then decided he didn't really care if she knew or not. "So what is the point of this conversation, this visit, now that everything's final?"

"You may not want my forgiveness," she said, "but you should at least thank me for not making that whole divorce a living hell. You're lucky I am perfectly happy with what I got." She strode closer to him. "The point is, I suppose, a _warning_, my dear," she said. "The next divorce might not go so well for you."

"There won't be a 'next divorce'," he said. "And don't you dare call me 'dear'."

She tsked. "Don't be naïve. Don't think I don't know what she's after."

"Tamiko," he said; fed up at last, his temper and voice were rising. "You have a nasty habit of projecting your own thoughts, feelings and desires onto other people. When I told Bridget I was asking you for a divorce, do you know what she did? She offered to help me financially. It's you who's only been interested in the money all this time."

She looked surprised. "You think that's all I was interested in?"

"Yes."

Her laugh was a bitter one. "I liked you well enough when we met, and while it's true I was eager to accept your proposal, I had hoped you'd warm to me in other ways, hoped I'd grow to love you in return. I realised after you dropped this bomb on me how wrong I was. You're a cold fish of a man, and I frankly don't know what she sees in you if not the money."

Simmering with fury, he opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get the chance.

"Get the fuck out of here," came Bridget's steady, angry voice, "you psychotic little fucked-up bitch queen from hell."

The door must not have latched shut properly; Bridget pushed open the door just as she ordered Tamiko out. Mark had never heard such language from Bridget, such hatred, and he was surprised to see such an outburst from her, but was careful not to show it. Tamiko's eyes widened, but she took it in stride, clearly amused. "She's got spunk, I'll grant you that, Mark. She must be quite the little a spitfire in bed."

"Get out," Mark reiterated icily, his eyes boring into Tamiko. "You are not welcome here ever again. You've insulted me—_us_—enough."

He knew there was going to be a parting shot—there was _always_ a parting shot—and he wasn't disappointed. "Mark?" She smiled saccharinely. "I faked it every time."

What he wasn't expecting was the reply that came out of Bridget's mouth:

"Funny thing, that. I _never_ have to." Bridget's smile bordered on evil; her eyes were wide with a counterfeit innocence. "I wonder why that is?"

Tamiko threw her a poisonous look then stalked past her, heading directly out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

He let out a long, slow breath, closing his eyes.

He heard her speak, her voice penitent: "Mark, I'm so sorry if I went too far there—"

Just then, he started to laugh, surprising not only her but himself. It was the barest chuckle at first, but it developed into one of those silent, soundless, doubled-over, tears-in-eyes sorts of laughs that left him unable to breathe. He could see a very concerned Bridget coming to him and putting her arm around his shoulders, but all he could do was straighten up, wrap his arms around her midsection, lift her in the air and start spinning her in circles before setting her down and kissing her voraciously.

"What was that?" said Bridget, breaking away breathlessly.

"That was me, being completely and utterly in love with you," he said, smiling, running his fingers back through her hair, then running his hands down her back and around her waist.

"Completely and utterly insane, more like," she retorted.

"You are brilliant," he said.

"She's a bitch."

"I think we're both right."

They both laughed and then he kissed her again.

"So I keep hearing about this house," she said, nuzzling up into his ear, standing up on her highest tiptoes; he could not resist drawing his hands down over her backside. "I'm starting to think it's a foyer, a sitting room and nothing else, all a big façade."

"Oh, ye of little faith." He stepped back and took her by the hand.

He showed her the house, which she seemed appropriately awed by. He left the master bedroom for last, with the four poster king-sized bed, burgundy draperies, rich cream-coloured carpet, and cherry wood bureaus; the en suite bath was similarly decorated, with an enormous spa-style tub and stall shower, beautiful brass fixtures on the dual sink, and plush towels, mats and curtains all the same shade as the bedroom drapes.

"Wow," she said breathlessly, taking it all in. "Even the toilet's a work of art. It must have been you with the good taste all along."

"Not really," he said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind, kissing into her hair. "I wanted a head start, had motivation to make this the nicest room in the house—I only tried to see the room through your eyes."

"It's heaven."

"Not yet it isn't," he said, turning her around, taking her in his arms and kissing her.

………

"What's on your mind?"

He lifted his lids to look at her, resting on her own elbow as she lay on her side, ensconced in the fine linens of his bed. "Oh," he said. "Nothing important."

"Don't lie to me," she warned, reaching up to stroke his face.

He exhaled. How to phrase it?

"I'm afraid Tamiko was right."

"What?"

"I didn't used to be this man," he explained. "I was much more distant, and positively unemotional. A cold fish."

"Mark," she said in a soft but stern voice, "don't try to tell me that I made you into this man, because that's bollocks. What you are you've always been, and if she wasn't able to bring that out in you, that is no one's fault but hers."

He closed his eyes as the backs of her fingers stroked his cheek. "I might have tried harder to be more open."

She stopped, drawing her hand away; he opened his eyes to see her looking quite shocked. "You are not seriously going to lie here," she began quietly, "and tell me you should have tried harder to make things work with _her_? Because if you are—"

"God, no, of course not," he said, rousing from his repose to embrace her. "I meant in general—oh, hell. I don't know what I meant."

Apparently forgiven, she embraced him in return. "Good. I would have had to give you a good thwap on the forehead."

He chuckled. "I think you're right… but I also think you were the only person who could have brought this out in me."

He settled back with her onto his pillow; he realised she was still scrutinising his face. "Mark," she said. "What else is wrong?"

He began to wonder half-seriously if it was such a good thing to be so intimate with someone who had such insight into every nuance of every facial expression. He met her eyes and swallowed hard. "What you said back there. To Tamiko. You weren't just saying that to spite her, were you?"

She looked at him, puzzled momentarily, until he elaborated:

"I mean, I'm not nearly as world-wise as Daniel in that arena…"

She started to laugh as he trailed off, then she pushed herself up to give him a long, lingering kiss. "I did _not_ just say that to spite her," she said. "Any 'cold fish' experiences in that arena on her part are, again, entirely her own fault."

He could not help but chuckle too as he pulled her close and held her to him, no sound but her breathing and the ticking of a far-off clock; no words needed to be spoken.

It felt so good to just lie there; there would be no dressing in the dark to make it back to the Carlton before it was so empty that his solitary presence in the lobby would have been noticed; no furtive plans for secret lunch dates; no heartbreaking days at a time without even so much as a phone call. He watched the light outside start to fade, looked down to her dozing in his arms, and smiled, finally feeling the extent of his freedom.

It felt positively fantastic.


	6. Part 6 of 6

**Chaos Theory**  
Part 6 of 6

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 31,177 (this part: 2,029)

Rating: M / R

See Part One for details.

I'm sorry this one's so much shorter. It's just the way things divvied up. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting; it means a lot to me to know that I'm making these characters touch you all in some way. (Dance, my puppets, _dance!_ (Um, the characters, not you fine folks.))

Special thanks and hearts to my Marcie; she is my editor, beta-reader, and a most excellent friend.

* * *

It was Wednesday, and Wednesday meant lunch with Daniel. There had barely been a hiccough in this routine throughout the years; regardless of what had been going on in their personal or professional lives, there had been Wednesday lunch, with he and Daniel trading off lunch locations; he tended to choose restaurants that were a little more posh, more upscale, while Daniel's tastes tended towards bar food.

Mark's choice was likely to shock Daniel that day. Then again, it wasn't really Mark's choice at all.

When Daniel approached the little three seat table in Café Rouge, he looked decidedly surprised. "This is… _different_ for you," said Daniel. "I also don't recall your mentioning anyone joining us today."

"I didn't think you'd mind," said Mark.

"Why the mystery?"

"No mystery," said Mark. "Bridget is, as always, late."

Daniel looked nonplussed.

"She picked this place, and asked to come," Mark said. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not if you don't," said Daniel unsurely.

"I'm satisfied in your assurances that you won't climb over the table and start snogging her." He watched Daniel smile and look more at ease, then smiled himself as he spotted her enter the restaurant.

"Ahhh, I remember that look," said Daniel with a grin. "She must be here."

"Yes." He stood as she spotted their table, then reached to kiss her as she came to his side then took the vacant seat.

"Hello Daniel," she said, offering a smile. "You're looking well."

"You look bloody fantastic," said Daniel, then looked to Mark. "I told you she'd be happier with you." Daniel's tone was light-hearted, and Mark could tell that Daniel really meant it, but the melancholy edge to his voice did not go unnoticed, and in the blink of an eye he turned serious, meeting Bridget's gaze again. "Before we go any further, though, I have to get this out of the way: Bridget, I am very sorry I hurt you. It really had more to do with me than you, and I apologise."

Mark turned to Bridget, to see her reaction; although she had never said so out loud, he knew it was something she needed to hear. Mark watched as a smile spread across her face. "Apology accepted."

"Excellent. Glad that's out of the way," he said, sitting back in his seat in a very relaxed manner, just as the waitress brought the drinks Mark had seen fit to order. After she went, he said, "So. Did you know that Perpetua's getting married?"

"Really?"

"Mm, yes." He took a sip of beer. "Dress is a taffeta nightmare. Looks like a puff pastry gone horribly wrong."

"Oh, good Lord."

"I'm afraid with you out of the office, Bridge, there is no longer anyone left with an ounce of good taste."

"Except yourself," said Mark.

"Well, yes, that goes without saying."

Just like that, Mark could feel the tension palpably lift; as they ordered their food then began to eat, they continued on with light banter, joking, and threats of dumping crisp remnants unceremoniously into Mark's lap.

"You know," said Daniel, sweeping the last of his chips through a pile of salt, "if you and I weren't going to work out, Bridge, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather see you with." He glanced to Mark, still grinning, then popped them in his mouth. Still chewing, he continued, "And I'm not just saying that because I think Mark has needed a woman with a sense of humour in his life for a long, long time."

He could not help but laugh. Laughter came so much more easily to him now than it used to. He reached to squeeze her hand to thank her—he'd explain why later.

"Well, at least one that wasn't carved from ice, anyway," said Bridget, grinning playfully.

Mark paid—because it was technically his week to pick and he wasn't about to make Bridget pay—and as they rose to leave, he watched Bridget go around to Daniel and peck his cheek.

"Until next time?" she said with a sweet smile.

"Yeah," said Daniel, reaching to take her hand and squeeze it. "Until next time."

They left the table and as they got to the waiting area, Bridget turned to Mark and asked, "Are you still able to take me back to work?"

"Absolutely."

"Great," she said with a grin, "but I need to use the ladies' first."

She popped to the loo and Mark looked to Daniel. To his relief, his friend's expression did not alter as she left their presence.

"That," said Daniel, "was a hell of a lot easier than I thought it was going to be."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I have been known to tell an untruth now and again, especially regarding women, or to women," said Daniel, "but I meant what I said before."

"I know you did," said Mark, "and it means a lot to me to hear it."

Daniel offered a half-smile. "Maybe there's hope for me yet. Well, better shove off before the entirety of the office descends into chaos without me there."

Daniel sauntered away, glancing back over his shoulder one last time, offering one more smile before leaving Café Rouge altogether.

Bridget joined Mark's side again just as Daniel disappeared through the door. "He'll be all right?" she said quietly, taking Mark's hand.

Mark smiled, answering honestly, "Yeah. He'll be all right."

………

There was something very familiar about the scene: the leaves turning colour, the pastoral country road, the long drive to Grafton Underwood, but especially the woman in the passenger seat. Mark felt a smile touch his lips quite of their own accord, and when Bridget caught him looking she furrowed her brow and asked, "What's that smile for?"

"Just having a little bit of déjà vu, that's all," he said. "I recall this time last year at this party was when everyone thought you and I were scandalously involved in an extramarital affair."

She smiled, looking down. "That did turn out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, though." Looking back up, she added, "You don't think they think less of me for breaking up your marriage, do you?"

He laughed. "First of all, you did not break up my marriage—"

"But they might have thought I'd done."

He continued as if uninterrupted, "—and secondly, everyone here actually likes _you_."

"Still—"

He shushed her. "I'll have none of this," he said, covering her hand with his. "You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about."

Wisely, she said nothing more, just turned her hand over and entwined her fingers with his.

Their arrival together hand in hand caused quite the buzz around the party: Geoffrey looking superior and smug; Pam and Una looking pleased as punch; and finally, Mark's mother Elaine, who approached them, bent to kiss Mark's cheek, then bent to kiss Bridget's, visibly startling her.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said, smiling very broadly. "It's good to see you both. You're looking very…" She looked pointedly at Mark and finished, "…_happy_."

_Like last year,_ Mark thought, _only more so._

He watched Bridget smile too. "It's really good to see you too, Mrs Darcy."

"Oh, Bridget," she said dismissively. "Please call me Elaine. Tell me, how's that job of yours going?" She stepped forward, linking her arm through Bridget's. "Heard you switched since last year's party."

Bridget flashed her sparkling eyes up to Mark before allowing herself to be led away by his mother. "Yes, actually, I have. I'm working in television now…"

He watched them walk away together, and could not help but reflect on the difference a year had made on his life. Out of a stagnant, loveless marriage, coupled with a woman he loved more than he could say—and yes, happy. Very, very happy.

Life was definitely worlds apart from the one he knew before he had her in his life—her independence and sometimes brattishness coupled with her innately loving and giving nature meant that there was never a dull moment. It surprised him how protective he felt about her, always wanting her safe, secure and wanting for nothing; he had never felt this way about any other woman he'd known, and certainly not his ex-wife. He never had to worry about Bridget saying one thing but meaning another—she was always very vocal about saying what she thought, sometimes to her detriment (and his amusement). Tamiko liked to play power games; Bridget just simply liked to play.

She was definitely a breath of fresh air.

"And you told me you weren't," came the quiet, knowing, and slightly unnerving voice of Geoffrey Alconbury, close to his side, undoubtedly smirking.

He was in a blissful enough state that he didn't feel the slightest compulsion to punch Geoffrey's lights out, as he might have ordinarily done. "I wasn't," Mark said as he turned to the man, "but maybe I should have. I would have been a lot happier a lot sooner."

Geoffrey blinked, clearly unsure whether Mark was taking the piss out of him or not. "Well."

"Yes," concurred Mark.

"I think… um, time for another drink," he stammered as he walked away.

Still feeling victorious, Mark glanced around, and as he did, he found that Bridget had been cornered by her mother and Una. She was looking a little terrified; that protective instinct kicked in and he grabbed two glasses of wine to rescue her.

"Bridget," he said, feeling positively saviour-like.

"Mark!" exclaimed Pam, turning as he handed Bridget her drink. "Lovely to see you!"

He watched as she took a long gulp. "Hello, Mrs Jones," he said politely. "If you don't mind, I'd like a word alone with your daughter."

"Chuh," said Pam, "you've only just arrived!"

"If you'll excuse us," he said, taking hold of Bridget's elbow and pulling her away.

"Darling," he asked in a hushed tone as they reached the entryway of the house, "what's the matter?"

She looked really unsettled. "My mum. She's really happy about the two of us. _Really_ happy."

Mark was understandably baffled, given the conversation in the car. "That's good, though, right? You wanted people to be happy about this."

Bridget intensified her look, widening her eyes a little, as if willing him to comprehend. "My mum and Una are now insisting to know when we're going to… 'name the day'."

"Name what day?"

"Mark, don't be obtuse. You _know_." To further elaborate, she hummed a snatch of a song.

_Here Comes the Bride_. All became clear.

Their future had been something he had been thinking of for a long time, and thought maybe now was the right time to take one step forward. "Actually," he said slowly, reaching to cup her face in his hand, "there _was_ something I was meaning to talk to you about."

Her eyes widened. "W-what?"

When he finished with his suggestion, she looked quite pleased, indeed.

………

"Well, mate. I did it."

"Did what?"

"Asked her."

There was a pause. "Asked her? Asked her what?"

"What do you think?"

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Daniel? You still there?"

"I'm just contemplating why a man so lately freed from such a bond would be so quick to shackle himself again."

Mark laughed. "'Such a bond' would hardly be the same with Bridget, but I think you've jumped a little too far in your conclusion."

He heard Daniel laugh. "Okay. So what _did_ you ask her?"

"Baby steps," he said. "I proposed to her only that it was not practical for her to keep up her flat, not when I've got this too-large house."

"Logical as always," Daniel agreed, then teased, "but what about propriety?"

"I figure almost four and a half months has been long enough of alternating sleepovers—and four months before that of subterfuge. I'd like to have her all settled in by Christmas."

Daniel chuckled. "Well, good for you, mate."

Mark thanked him, then hung up the phone, and sat back in his chair, smiling smugly, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them. He was certain the next step would come sooner rather than later; after all, Christmas was only a couple of months away.

_The end._


End file.
